


Well Done

by cincoflex



Series: Well Done [1]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: F/M, Light-Hearted, Slow Burn, chefs rule, this show needed more comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-06-19 12:59:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 50,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15510420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cincoflex/pseuds/cincoflex
Summary: AU: The chef for the Enterprise does more for Captain Archer than just serve dinner.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Much as I loved this series, it got dark and far too technical for my tastes. Therefore I've put my own spin on it because you can never have too much romance in space.

The Stateroom Restaurant  
San Francisco, CA  
March, 2151

I wasn’t sure what to make of him. He’d parked himself at the same left corner table every night for nearly three weeks, and while Virgie and Paul said he tipped well, he didn’t talk much. Sometimes he had company; a couple of guys once, and an older woman another time but most nights he was on his own. Tall rangy guy with big shoulders and a good appetite.

The problem with the left corner table is you get a clear view into the kitchen. The owners don’t like seating customers there and generally keep it empty, but this guy had asked for the table specifically. That put me on edge because it meant that any time during his visit he could see me and the rest of the brigade at work on the dinner orders. Normally I don’t fret about that sort of thing; I’m too busy to let it bother me, but when it’s the same person night after night it begins to cross into stalker territory, especially when you look up and find yourself watched.

And he was definitely watching. Not being obnoxious about it I might add. He never waved or made kissy faces or any of the other moves we’ve had from folks who’ve been at that table. No, he just . . . noted what we were doing. What I was doing.

“Maybe he has a _toque blanque_ fetish,” Paulette suggested to me with a grin. “You know, fantasies about getting it on back here.”

I made a face. “Gross. As if there could be anything remotely sexy about the décor of stainless steel and enamel.”

“Hey, _some_ guys,” Paulette teased. She’s my sous chef and a damned good one, frankly. Too good to stay my number two for long. I’d been at the Stateroom for three years now and I was getting restless; if I found another job I’d be sure to recommend her to take my place.

I liked the position and I’d worked hard to get it but there weren’t too many challenges to it now. Serving up California coast cuisine night after night wasn’t difficult or even interesting anymore. Luckily Mr. Mysterious had taken to ordering some of the more off-beat items from the menu and that was a nice change of pace. I wondered if he was some critic looking to trip me up.

Tonight he’d asked for grilled swordfish with leeks and wanted plomeek to start with. Normally I’d roll my eyes at that; the soup isn’t one of our best sellers but ever since my stint with the Embassy caterers I knew how to do a lot of the easier Vulcan dishes. Not a lot of folks ask for it—not a lot of humans anyway—so I was curious now.

I put the dinner together and handed it off to Pech, asking him to keep tabs and went back to running the kitchen, trying to stay focused. The Stateroom handles up to eighty tables most nights and even more on holidays of course. Tonight we were at two thirds capacity but I was on top of things, making sure Milo was keeping up with the beef cuts and stepping in for Taro when one of the gravies threatened to curdle. My brigade was in good shape all told and we were over the late rush so we could slow down a little. I was about to go on break forty minutes later when Pech found me and handed me a note.

“Love letter?” I asked.

“From Mr. Left Corner,” Pech told me, smirking. “Wanted to make sure you got this _personally._ ”

I rolled my eyes. “Not you too.”

“Hey,” Pech shrugged. “He’s been coming here nearly a month and cleaning his plate every time so it can’t be a complaint. Go; management would _want_ you to.”

Pech hustled off to pick up someone’s order and I opened the note: _Dear Chef DeMarelli, I would like to speak to you at your earliest convenience. Thank you, Jonathan Archer._

There was a number and I was halfway tempted just to call it and avoid the face to face but Pech was right—management had already noticed the customer. I knew the PR drill: always make nice to the paying public, so with a small sigh I stepped out, pulled off my toque and made my way to the back left table.

He was there, looking like an extra-tall boy scout with his straight posture and big shoulders. I slowed down and stayed out of arm’s reach as I put on a smile. “Mr. Archer?”

He looked up. “Chef De Marelli. Thank you for taking a moment to come over,” he told me and I gave him a point for courtesy. He hadn’t called Miss De Marelli or Ma’am, both of which make me grit my teeth a little. I’d earned the rank of chef and it was nice to have someone acknowledge it, if only as an introduction.

“Thank you for . . . eating,” I murmured, suddenly a little lost. “I take it everything tonight was satisfactory?”

“Yes,” he told me, looking a little lost himself, as if I’d just reminded him he’d had dinner. “Ah, yes. Very good. All of it. I can’t think of a single dish I haven’t enjoyed.” Mr. Archer waved for me to sit and I did, sliding into the chair and feeling awkward again. 

I’m much more used to complaints and questions than I am to compliments. People are much more likely to call out the chef for those than to praise them, not that I’ve had that many that were actually related to the food. A kitchen is a service of many parts and I’ve been yelled at things I personally had _nothing_ to do with: for dirty forks and spilled salad and even the level of the music at times, so I’m always a little on guard. I looked at Mr. Archer. “Thank you very much, sir. So . . .”

“Oh. Yes, so I wanted to tell you that yes, I’m very impressed with . . .” he waved a hand towards the rest of the room, “Ah, all of it. Your food is excellent and you turn out an amazing variety night after night.”

There was another little pause and I nodded. “Yes,” I agreed, trying not to sound either exasperated or condescending. “It’s my _job_ , sir.”

“I know,” he agreed, “and yet you make it flow. Everyone under your command knows exactly what to do, how to get it done, when to get it done. It’s like a sort of ballet.”

I looked at him, wondering where this was going. It didn’t sound like any sort of pick-up line I’d ever heard before, that’s for sure. He looked sincere but also nervous, and it dawned on me that Mr. Archer had no idea how to get to what he wanted to say.  
So I caught his gaze and cleared my throat. “Sir, what exactly is your point here? Not to be blunt but I do need to get back to the kitchen fairly soon.”

He smiled then, and it was . . . nice. A good smile. A _real_ smile. He leaned forward like he was going to share a secret with me and said, “I want you to come cook on my ship.”

I stared back at him. Damn, and here I thought it was going to be something exciting, not another offer to head up some cruise liner galley. I’d been approached before to work some of the biggest companies out there and I admit I worked one summer aboard one of the SilverSea ships back when I was just starting out. Fun for a while but not enough to do again anytime soon, even if I got to shop the best markets around the Mediterranean. 

“Oh. Well thank you very much, Captain Archer is it? But I’m not really interested in cruise work, to be honest.”

“Oh this wouldn’t be a cruise,” he told me. “And it wouldn’t be . . . on the water.”

It took me a minute to catch on, especially since the man across the table had never showed up in a uniform, but this is San Francisco, home of Starfleet, so when I figured it out, I couldn’t help reacting.  
“A star ship?” I mumbled, feeling my gut quiver. “As in space?”

Archer nodded and I’m glad he gave me time to process the idea because he just waited as I blinked a little, trying to figure out what to say.

I’d done a lot already in my life but space . . . that was new. I’d worked dives and fancy steakhouses, done the cruise cuisine and even worked on a food truck so fancy that it was allowed on the White House Lawn but space . . . that would be one _hell_ of an adventure, that’s for certain.

“How . . . how big a ship?” I asked. “As head, or under sous? Doesn’t the Fleet have their own culinary school? How long a trip are you talking?” I had those and a thousand others to ask, but Archer held up a hand and I realized he was fighting a grin.

“Crew of eighty or so; Head of course; we’re starting a school but not in time for this mission; about two years,” he told me. “I was given authority to hire anyone I wanted for the Enterprise, Fleet or otherwise.”

I stared at him. “And you think I’m the chef for the job?”

“I _know_ you are,” he told me, and smiled again.

*** *** ***

Starfleet was up to date in everything scientific and mission-related but when it came to galleys, the layout was out of date by thirty years or more. I looked at the schematics thoughtfully sent to me by Archer and already I could see problems. Of course since the ship was already built, I didn’t have many options; I was going to have to work around them to the best of my abilities.

“Here,” I pointed to the far end of what would be the main prep station. “It’s three steps away from the incinerator hatch—which is three steps too many for efficiency. Maybe I can arrange a disposal chute if I talk to an engineer. And here,” I tapped the buffet rails, “these are too narrow for tray stability. We’re going to have a lot of spillage if I can’t get the space between these tubes widened.”

Archer nodded. We were in his office at Central Command and despite his rank it was still pretty small, and full of boxes. I’d been briefed by Star Fleet and given an honorific rank, I’d gone through my physical, my psych evaluation and had taken the speed course version of basic ship protocol 101 so things were in motion now so this chance to talk to Archer about the galley was a lucky event. 

“Anything else? Anything critical?” he wanted to know. 

“Well your personal dining room is adjacent so you might hear noise from the galley,” I pointed out. “And it’s . . . intimate—small. If you’re doing to do any formal dining or entertaining for more than four people, we’ll have to clear out the mess hall for that night.”

“Noted, not that I’m planning on entertaining much. We’re more geared to scientific exploration,” Archer admitted. He was in uniform now and it looked good on him, to be honest. Something about the directness of his gaze and that habit of quirking a smile was pretty appealing, to be honest.

“So my supplier is the quartermaster, right?”

“Yes. That will be Lieutenant Sath; he’ll keep track of whatever you and your sous need to run meals for three shifts of twenty or personnel. Have you picked one?”

I nodded. “Maalik Khan. I worked with him for a few years and he’s excited for this chance.” Sort of an understatement; Maalik had always been interested in joining Star Fleet so this would give him a chance to see if it was a good fit. When I called and asked him, he was packed by the next day, no surprise. He and I had a good rapport and having at least one familiar face around would help a lot.

“Good. Anything else on your mind?” Archer asked me. “Now’s the time to get it aired.”

“Huh,” I turned to look at him thoughtfully. “Well now that you mention it, I’m interested in getting an update from the ship’s doctor on any crew allergies, I’d like to see what the furniture layout will be for the mess hall, and do you have any hydroponic capacity on this Enterprise?”

His brows went up along with the corners of his mouth. “Thorough,” he commented. “Good. I’ll make sure you get the information on all of that before we launch, which will be in four days.”

I nodded and bent to pet Porthos, who wagged his tail. I like dogs, and finding out that this one was going along with us was a bonus as far as I was concerned. “Almost enough time for my roommates to throw a heck of a party,” I sighed. “Can I board early and miss it?”

Archer laughed. “You don’t want to go to your own bon voyage party?”

I shook my head. “Knowing them it will be the sort of bash that the police will have to break up, and that won’t go over well with Starfleet. I figure I can slip away and get a feel for the galley a little early, if nobody minds.”

He thought it over and nodded. “Sounds good to me, as long as you don’t mind noise and people still working around you.”

I rolled my eyes. “I work in kitchens; I’ll be fine.”

*** *** ***

My quarters were nice. Having lived in the Bay area I was used to small spaces and this one was actually generous compared to what I’d had in past years. The room was located on the other side of the mess hall, down a little corridor and tucked against the bulkhead, so I had a nice window view of wherever we were headed. Maalik’s quarters were at the front of the block of enlisted officers rooms so he was just as close to work as I was.

Archer wasn’t kidding about people still working on the ship, either. I kept running into or being run into by people moving in a hurry. I made it a point to figure out the quickest route to the Sick Bay first; working around knives and flames had taught me that, and met the doctor who was heading up the place. Denobulan by the name of Phlox and he was nice. I’d never met one before but he was sort of charming and chatty so I enjoyed meeting him.

I also met the armory officer, Lieutenant Reed, who came striding into my galley later that day demanding to know who I was and why I was there. He didn’t take my reply at face value—“I’m the chef,”—and insisted I produce some sort of proof. 

That annoyed me so I pulled out a knife and an onion, julienning the entire thing in fifteen seconds.  
“Good enough?” I asked him, and began juggling a few more blades from my knife block, tossing and catching them in a pretty good display of steel. From the startled look on his lean face it was clear he hadn’t been expecting a challenge and furthermore, wasn’t sure how to deal with it, so I cut him some slack. I caught the knives, set them down and shrugged. “Call Captain Archer; he’ll vouch for me, Lieutenant.”

He did, trying to sound imposing. “Reed here, sorry to bother you, Captain, but I have someone in the galley claiming to be the chef.”

“Tall knockout blonde?” came Archer’s reply and I blushed. “Yes, that’s Chef DeMarelli.”

Knockout? I wasn’t sure what to think, but apparently Lieutenant Reed just nodded. “Right then.” He looked at the knives on the prep table and then back at me. “I hope you understand I’m only doing my job, Miss--”

I shook my head and picked up the biggest knife. “ _Chef_ , Lieutenant. No hard feelings, but worked as hard for my rank as you did for yours.”

He got it and nodded again. “Chef. Welcome aboard the Enterprise.”

“Thank you. I look forward to feeding you,” I told him and watched him leave the galley, still feeling a little pink in the face thanks to Archer’s description.  
Tall, yeah that fit, as did blonde, but knockout? I rolled my eyes and began cleaning up the onion, well aware I was going to have to say something.


	2. Chapter 2

Maalik and I fell into synch without hesitation, and by the time the ship launched we already had the menu for the first two weeks planned out. One thing about the Enterprise; the equipment was first-rate, especially the recycling and cleaning stuff. I wasn’t too sure about the protein re-sequencer but dutifully I read up on how to use it and guessed it would come in handy at some point. Frankly I was going to do my best to make sure that point was far in the future though—I _have_ my professional pride.

The first day was a cinch and I was delighted at how enthusiastic the crew was, particularly the older ones who’d been on long hauls before this. Maalik and I were complimented through every shift, and by the time I got around to bringing the captain’s meal to him I was feeling a little proud. I put on my best game face however, when I set the tray in front of him, lifting the tureen lid with flair, waiting for him to say something.

“Pepper-crusted steak,” he murmured with pleasure. It had been one of the first meals I’d made for him back at the Statehouse and I knew he liked it. Archer looked up at me, smiling but I didn’t smile back.

His smile faltered. “It looks great; ah, thank you?”

I held his gaze for a moment longer and finally Archer clued in. “Chef, is everything all right?”

“Knockout?” I replied, dryly.

Watching him blush made me want to laugh and I might have if the issue wasn’t so important to me. He bit his lips and had the grace to look embarrassed, but to his credit too, he looked up again. “I’m sorry; that was sexist on my part, Chef, and . . . it won’t happen again.”

I sighed. “Good. Whatever your personal opinion is or becomes of me down the line is well and good in private, but we’re both professionals when we’re dealing with the crew, all right?”

“Yes, exactly,” Archer agreed, looking extremely apologetic, which helped defuse my annoyance.  
I finally smiled and lifted the smaller lid on the tray.

“Apology accepted—and to prove it, gateau chocolate for dessert.”

He gave a nod and breathed a sigh of relief as I nodded in return. I moved to leave, but Archer cleared his throat and I looked at him. “That’s one of the other reasons I knew you’d be a good fit with this ship—your ability to call me out when I need it. Thank you, Chef.”

I grinned all the way back to the kitchen.

*** *** ***

So I got into the swing of things, and got to know the crew as well. It helped that most of them were grateful for good food and told me so, often. Maalik took the morning shift, we split the swing shift and I took on the dinner shift most of the week. Since both of us made it a point to do as much prep as possible beforehand things went smoothly and we each had enough time off to relax.

The hydroponic garden crew did a great job of supplying us with supplemental fresh vegetables and allowed me to go pick what I wanted when I needed it. I loved that; being around green growing things did a lot to offset any cabin fever I felt. Travelling in space did take some getting used to, but with the garden as my touchstone I at least had something grounding me a bit.

I wasn’t the only one who liked going there either. I got to know Hoshi Sato after encountering her there a few times, and she always wanted to practice Italian with me once she found out I was a native speaker. She had a sneaky sense of humor I appreciated, and some good insights into the rest of the crew.

“Reed’s just really . . . British,” she explained. “Very reserved. Takes a while to get to know him. Sort of the opposite of Doctor Phlox, really.”

I nodded. “I can see that.”

“Most of the other folks up on the bridge are exactly what they appear to be,” Hoshi added. “Trip’s laid back, and Travis is kind of fun-loving, and T’Pol . . . well she sort of out-reserves Reed but that’s pretty typical of Vulcans.”

“I get that too,” I grinned. “Although she hasn’t complained about the food so I count that as a win.”

“You’re offering her dishes from her home planet as well as other ones,” Hoshi pointed out. “That’s pretty generous right there.”

“I like broadening my horizons, food-wise. Besides, I’m considering some fusions in the future.”

Hoshi brightened at that. “Oh wow! That would be wonderful!”

We chatted a bit more and she left before I was done collecting tomatoes and beans, which was fine. I carried them back to the galley where Maalik and I got ready to prepare them.

Maalik’s Sikh, which means he wears a turban and a beard. I know a lot of folks would worry about that last part around food prep, but he ties it up and tucks it in under his chin before working, so everything’s within guidelines. Originally I worried he’d be asked to cut it, but Star Fleet is very good about respecting cultural standards so that was a relief for both of us. 

“So about the re-sequencer,” Maalik began as we washed the produce. “I know you’re not crazy about using it for meals, but what about for produce? Like these beans?”

“Not enough protein,” I reminded him. “According to the manual you need at least seven grams per ounce for the machine to work. It would work with soybeans, though, and some of the fancier triticale hybrids. If you want to experiment with it, be my guest.”

“I just may,” Maalik nodded, smiling. “We’ll see what I can configure, eh? And if it’s no good, I’ll just recycle it in the compost.”

“Fair enough. Make sure you keep notes and send them back home though—I want you to get credit if you figure out anything good.”

We’d both agreed to keep records and notes for the trip, figuring they’d be useful in the long run, and Star Fleet had agreed to pay us bonuses for anything we came up with that would improve the galleys for the next ships. I’d already sketched out a better system for table layout and Maalik was compiling a cookbook based on speed of preparation.

When I got to my cabin I had vids from Mom, Grandma, Aunt Gisella and Rolf, so I chose his first as I settled on the bed.

His round goofy face showed up and I could see the kitchen of my old place in the background. “Hey ‘Chesca! So you’re in space now, woo! Most of the guys here say you’ll be back within a week but I got faith in you girl! I also expect at least a souvenir from the first planet you hit, okay? Miranda and Joe moved into your old room and painted it completely orange but yeah they were stoned at the time so what I can say? They claim they like it, but it would be like living inside a pumpkin, right? So stay safe and have a good trip, and don’t forget me! Rolf out!”

I grinned. Rolf was a gentle soul with an amazing talent for producing some of the best baked goods I’d ever had. The man honestly believed that communicating to the ingredients before cooking made the difference, and hearing him give a rousing pep talk to bowls of flour and cups of yeast made me laugh . . . until I tasted the results.

Seriously? I think he was onto something---enough so that I myself occasionally chatted to my biscuits and croissants. Anyway it was good to hear from him; out of all my roommates, Rolf was the one I’d miss the most. I made a note to send him something soon and turned to the other vids.

“Franny, I still don’t like it but not much I can say now is there?” Mom chided me from her living room. I tried not to laugh as she rolled her eyes. “I hope you took a few extra blankets and remembered your copy of the family cookbook with you. To think! A child of mine feeding people in space! _Sono fiero di te!”_

“Thanks mom,” I told the screen. “I’m glad you’re proud of me.”

The vid continued, and Mom leaned forward. “Be safe! There are all kinds of, of things out there! Not the people, although some of them are strange too, but who knows? Rocks that could eat you, and trees that might chase you!”

“I’ll avoid any Ents I meet,” I told the video, trying not to laugh. My mom once had a tree fall on her car while she was in it, and has been leery of them ever since. When I was a teenager I used to holler ‘timber!’ just to make her jump.

“Anyway, Nona Maria wants to talk to you so, be good!”

The camera shifted to show my Nona Maria, who’s about ninety-one and just this little apple doll of a woman. She grinned and waved a gnarled hand.

“Travel while you’re young!” she cackled. “And remember; good cooking makes for community at the table! Also, do not get pregnant in space. Love you, ‘Chesca!”

I just giggled. Nona Maria is my mom’s mom and always gives out these mixed bags of advice. There’s usually something pithy in there along with something practical and occasionally something flat-out weird. Like when I graduated the Culinary Institute of America she got it confused with the Central Intelligence Agency and suggested I put love potions in all my desserts from now on.

“I promise I will not get pregnant in space,” I told the screen, snickering to myself. My last romantic relationship had ended eight months ago when Jacob had returned to Canada to take over his family’s law practice. We’d promised we’d stay in touch, but he never returned any of my calls or emails and I got the hint. I suppose it was for the best in the long run; he hated lasagna and I was in space now.

I clicked on Aunt Gisella’s vid and she was talking before she even showed up on the screen. “And I can’t believe you just up and left for outer space without even ASKING how we felt about it! Thoughtless, Francesca, very thoughtless of you! Your mother is putting on a good face but I don’t have to!” At this point my aunt was on-screen and I could see she was in high dudgeon now, glaring at me. 

Very maturely, I stuck my tongue out, well-aware that it was just a recording, and she continued. 

“Working for a ship! And not even a luxury ship with good tips and handsome young officers! Noooo, you probably have some all metal room with no window, like a prisoner! AlI can say is you’ve made your bed but good this time, sgualdrinetta! Oh, and Mr. Calzini says the same.”

She hefted up her obese tuxedo cat, who gazed my way and gave a tiny confused wheeze of agreement, whereupon I lost it, laughing. I loved Mr. Calzini, who was a mellow bi-colored ottoman and the only saving grace of my aunt. Aunt Gisella took good care of my Nona and mom and even Mr. Calzini, but she had Opinions she wielded like baseball bats, so of course I never consulted her on anything I did, this trip being no exception. Mom figured out long ago that I not only knew what I wanted to do nearly every step of my life but also that I didn’t give a bacon-wrapped fig about what Aunt Gisella thought. Still, she was family and she’d sent the video so the love was there, buried somewhere under all the annoyance.

“So if you MUST do this . . . be safe,” Aunt Giselle finished, somewhat deflated. She was cuddling Mr. Calzini now, who started purring loudly. “Ciao.”

I clicked the recordings off and smiled, feeling a sense of relief even as I thought about what to send them back. Maybe a video touring the galley and parts of the ship I was allowed to film, just to give them an idea of what things were like. It felt good to hear from all of them and I was in a much better mood as I headed off to make dinner.

*** *** ***

After the first couple of weeks of bringing the captain his dinner and checking how it was when I picked up the dishes afterwards, he asked me to join him one night.

“Come on, Chef---I’d appreciate the company, and if you’re here I won’t be slipping anything under the table to someone who doesn’t really need it,” he told me with a grin. I glanced at Porthos who was trying to look innocent over on his little dog bed and grinned back.

“Well all right,” I shrugged. “Normally I wouldn’t do this in a professional setting but tonight can be an exception. Let me get a plate and I’ll be right back.”

I snagged a serving of goulash and brought along a few more dinner rolls, setting them between us as I sat down and murmured a quick grace under my breath. When I looked up, Archer was smiling at me.

“Habit,” I told him.

“A good one,” he replied. “I just . . . didn’t expect it of you.”

“Because I’m a cook?” I wanted to know, feeling a little defensive now. I might not be as devoted or church-going as my Nona Maria, but some rituals go to the bone. I’d lived long enough to appreciate them more than not.

“Because once again I made assumptions I should not have,” Archer replied easily. “I seem to do that a lot around you.”

“You do,” I agreed, snorting a little. “But that’s human nature I guess. I’ve made assumptions too—like about your taste in vegetables.”

He looked at his plate. “What about my taste in vegetables?”

“I was sure you’d be the sort of person who would turn his nose up at salads, and want something starchy every night with dinner like peas or corn,” I admitted. “So imagine my pleasant surprise to find otherwise, Mr. I-really-LIKE-green-beans.”

That made Archer laugh, and he looked so much nicer to me when he did. “Okay, I guess I deserved that, but to be fair your green beans are great!”

“Thank you,” I replied, and we were off on a rolling discussion about vegetables and farming and all sorts of related topics. I was surprised at how informed Archer was about it all and told him so later.

“I thought you were a pilot and an engineer,” I commented. We’d finished the goulash and I set a plate of chocolate hazelnut csiga in front of him. 

“I am, but I’m interested in all sorts of things. Is this a cinnamon roll?”

“It’s a chocolate pastry, Hungarian; goes with the dinner.”

“Where’s yours?” Archer wanted to know, and I shook my head.

“I only made twenty-seven, and Maalik had three,” I sighed. “He’s a great sous, but a chocoholic.”

That’s when Archer insisted I have half of his. “It’s only fair,” he told me firmly. “You made the meal you deserve dessert.”

“Thank you,” I told him, feeling touched and a little embarrassed. “Next time I’m hiding one for myself, though.”

“Good call,” Archer agreed. His eyes actually twinkled, which I thought was a thing that only happened in stories, but apparently not. Over coffee he somehow got the abbreviated version of my life out of me and I ended up lingering longer than I should have because he loved hearing about my family, especially my Nona Maria. In turn I found out that like me he was an only child and also the recipient of far too much parental advice.

“They love us,” I sighed, “even if they drive us a little nuts.”

“Yeah,” Archer added. “Sometimes more than a little.”

Then there was that weird pause where you’re not sure whether to keep talking or call it a night, so I slowly got up and collected the plates. Archer handed me a few and followed me to the door of the dining room, moving close enough to keep his voice low. “Chef? Thank you. I really enjoyed having you as a guest for dinner.”

“Me too,” I concurred, feeling a hint of something that I should have been on my guard about. Falling for the boss, whether it’s the restaurant owner or the captain of a ship was generally a bad idea. It hadn’t happened to me before but I’d seen others crash and burn in this territory, and it wasn’t pretty. 

I thought Archer was going to ask about doing it again but he didn’t, and I felt a little disappointed at that, even though it was probably for the best.


	3. Chapter 3

A few weeks later we made a stopover at a little planet called Pythos V, where Starfleet had a communications outpost. It was a scrubby little place but I applied for a spot on the shuttlecraft anyway and brought freshly baked bread and pastries for the staff at the station below. Not exactly a bribe but it seemed to go over well, especially with the chief there, who called me ‘an absolute angel!’ I got to tour the place with Hoshi and noted they had the protein re-sequencers along with a pretty basic kitchen. The ensign in charge of feeding the team of ten was willing to trade some local herbs and produce with me so I had Maalik pack up and send down our half of the deal on the next shuttle.

While the rest of the landing party traded supplies, I stayed outside. It was good to walk around in the open, and the terrain was a lot like the scrub land you’d see in Australia or Texas; the air was bracing and cool. At the back of the compound there was a volleyball court, and eventually Hoshi roped me into a friendly game there, telling me my height could support her skill against Zach and Beddo, our two outpost opponents. 

We played and I had a great time. Normally I’m pretty competitive but nobody was out for blood and the two guys were delighted just to have someone new to compete with, so when Hoshi and I finally won they cheered for us like the good sports they were. We picked up the food supplies from the Ensign and took the shuttle back to the ship, feeling pretty good about having a day out. I took the supplies to the galley and got on with dinner, taking a few spare minutes after the rush to look over what we’d gotten in trade.

Tomatoes, bell peppers, Dill, chives, some lemongrass, and a pretty blue leaf spice that the ensign’s note called _‘Local version of coriander; great on fish and cheese.’_ Since I was grilling up a salmon collar for myself I added a few sprinkles of it to the top when I got a summons.

“Chef, please bring your dinner too when you bring mine,” Archer told me, not giving me much of an option. I didn’t mind though—it had been a while since we’d had a meal together and he was probably going to ask about the planet.

And he did. Archer lowered his head when I whispered grace and wanted to know what I thought of my trip once we’d settled in and started eating.

“Fun. It wasn’t particularly exotic, but it was sure nice to get out and walk around,” I told him. “I didn’t realize how much I’d missed being outside.”

“I thought so,” he replied. “One of the reasons I approved of you going, even though there were other names on the list.”

I was touched by that. “Thank you.”

Archer gave a little shrug and glanced at my plate. “Ah, blue?”

“Spice I got in trade while I was there,” I explained. “Something sort of like coriander and it’s pretty good. Zings up the fish nicely. How’s your carne asada?”

“Delicious,” Archer assured me, “As usual. I should have invited the station chief up for dinner but we’re supposed to take off in a few hours. I’m grateful you at least brought him some home-made treats.”

“Diplomacy starts with food, according to my nona,” I grinned.

“Culinary diplomacy is a start,” he agreed. “When I found out you were versed in Vulcan cuisine it helped justify hiring you to the higher-ups in Starfleet, you know.”

“I figured. I’ve been quizzing Doctor Phlox on Denobulan food, but not a lot of it is aesthetically appealing to Terrans, and the _only_ thing I’ve found interesting about Andorian cuisine is their ale.” I took a few more bites of my fish, enjoying the flavor.

“Yeah there’s not much information yet. I’m glad you and Maalik are collecting data in your areas of expertise too. It’s going to be invaluable to the ships that come after us.”

“I want you to put your arms around me,” I told Archer. The minute the words came out he froze, and I blinked, wondering where the hell that had come from.

“What?” He looked stunned.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that,” I offered, feeling the heat across my face. I pushed my plate away. “That really sounded . . . weird.”

“Yes,” Archer agreed, watching me. “Not . . . in a bad way, but still--”

I took a breath. “Weird. I mean I think stuff like that but I don’t say it. Everybody does, right?”

“Ah . . . yeah,” he nodded, still staring at me.

I tried to smile. “And it’s silly. I mean if you hugged me you couldn’t finish your dinner. Although I’d forgive you in a heartbeat, unlike _Reed_ , who barely touches a single dessert I make for him, the brat.”

“Chef, are you . . . okay?” Archer asked, and he looked so concerned that it was cute.

“Well sometimes I want to smack him on the back of the head the way my uncle does, but that would be mean,” I confessed. “Reed’s just a picky eater, and he’s not even as sexy as you are.”

“O-kay, I think we need to go see Doctor Phlox,” Archer muttered.

“Now _that_ guy’s a teddy bear,” I agreed, feeling pleased at the description. When Archer tugged me up from my seat and slipped an arm around my shoulders, I smiled. “So you _are_ going to hug me!”

“Sort of,” he guided me around the table and towards the door. I liked having him in my personal space because he smelled nice, and was really warm. I was having a little trouble walking at this point but it was probably because Archer was taller and sort of dragging me now.

Somewhere in a back corner of my head I wondered what was going on, but for the most part I didn’t mind and said so. “You’re very strong. And good-smelling.”

“Ah, thank you.”

I caught a glimpse of a smile but it was just a flicker. My feet were definitely not cooperating now and I twisted, nearly losing my balance, so we skidded against one bulkhead and the full on body press was as delicious as I’d suspected it would be.

“Hiiiiiii,” I breathed in Archer’s face.

“Yep, I think you are,” and with that he scooped me up. I sort of squeaked and hung onto his shoulders as he carried me down the hall and up towards Sick Bay.

“Doc!” Archer called and after that I was put on a table and things were a little more confused. Doctor Phlox kept asking me questions while he checked my eyes and pulse, and I kept rambling on.

“Do they have teddy bears on Denobula? Because you are totally like a teddy bear but sort of fur-less.”

“No they don’t, I’m sorry to say. How long has she been like this, Captain?”

“Ten minutes or so. We were having dinner and she started to become . . . uninhibited,” I heard Archer say.

“ _Honest,_ ” I interjected. “It’s not like I was taking my _clothes_ off, you know. I was just admitting you were sexy and Reed is hard to cook for when it comes to desserts!” I protested.

“The lieutenant would be, with his number of allergies,” Phlox agreed with me. “And what did you have for dinner, Chef?”

“Fish,” I told him. “Grilled salmon with gingered risotto.”

“And some sort of blue seasoning,” Archer added. “Hang on, I’ll get it.”

While he was gone, Phlox drew blood and asked, “Blue seasoning?”

“From Pythos. I traded with the cook there and used it on the salmon. It really added a zing to it, but now it’s probably made me insane, right?”

“Well not insane,” Phlox assured me, “but clearly you feel . . . free to express your opinions?”

“Yes,” I nodded, “exactly. Your Sick Bay is kind of cold. And I think it would be hard to have sex on one of these beds.”

To his credit he didn’t laugh. “I have to keep it slightly chilly to counter the radiant heat of my diagnostic devices and yes. I generally discourage sex here in Sick Bay.”

Apparently Archer came back in time to hear that last remark because he nearly dropped my dinner plate. “Sex in Sick Bay?”

“No thank you,” Phlox told him absently, “I’m happily married. I see what you mean about the shift in inhibitions, Captain. If you’ll keep an eye on Chef, I’ll see what I can find regarding this . . . spice.” He took the plate with him to the other side of Sick Bay.

Archer came over and took my hand. He looked so worried that I felt bad. “I’m sorry you’re scared,” I told him. “You already have enough to worry about.”

“I’m fine,” he said. “It’s you I’m concerned about.”

“That’s nice. I know I’m going to be very embarrassed when I stop talking like this,” I reached up to stroke his cheek. “I’m just sorry I’m never going to rock your world.”

“Never say never,” he muttered. “How much of that spice did you get? Where’s the rest of it?”

I thought hard through the mellow haze, and played with Archer’s palm. “About two ounces, I think. I left it with the other spices on the first prep table . . . maybe. Wow, your hand is almost as big as my bra cup.”

“Doctor,” Archer’s voice was a little strangled now as he spoke over his shoulder, “I think the symptoms are . . . intensifying.”

“According to the botany database, it’s called common culinary herb called Pla-kur mor and it’s a dopamine enhancer,” Phlox replied. “Chef is undoubtedly among the small percentage of humans with the genetic marker that makes her susceptible to its effects. Since it’s non-toxic and she ingested only a small amount, the best thing would be to let it wear off naturally.”

“So I’m . . . stoned?” I called out.

“Colloquially put, but yes,” Doctor Phlox came back over to me and smiled. “You are as they say, _stoned_.”

“Huh,” I replied. “That’s cool.”

“For how long?” Archer wanted to know. “She’ll be staying here in Sick Bay, right?”

“A few hours at most, and it probably would be best to keep an eye on her here,” the doctor agreed. “With your permission, Chef, I think I’ll go collect the rest of the Pla-ku mor for safekeeping.”

I waved my free hand, a little clumsily. “Sure. Too bad though; it really enhances fish!”

When he was gone, I looked at Archer. “Are you going to lecture me about eating strange plants?”

“No,” he told me. “You heard Phlox; it’s a common cooking herb and you didn’t know you’d be . . . susceptible.”

“Man if my aunt finds out I am never going to hear the end of this,” I sighed. “First visit to another planet and I’m hospitalized. She’ll _screech_.”

“She doesn’t have to know,” Archer pointed out. “I’m not going to tell her.”

“Promise?” I asked, reaching to hook a finger in the collar of his uniform. I meant to pull him closer, but ended up undoing part of it, which made me giggle when Archer blushed.

“Promise,” he sighed patiently and caught my hand. Now he had both of them. “Francesca, you need settle down and let this stuff work its way out of your system. The Enterprise needs her chef.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “I like holding hands with you, even though I shouldn’t.”

“Well I’m holding onto them until the doctor gets back.” I could tell he was humoring me.

“Good,” I sighed. “Listen, I find you really sexy and all but tomorrow I’m going to be trying hard to pretend I didn’t say it to you, okay?”

“You may not even _remember_ it tomorrow,” Archer pointed out, but he was smirking. “But yeah. My word as an officer and a gentleman, I won’t bring it up.”

Phlox came back and Archer let go, straightening up. “All right, I’ll ah, leave her here with you then. If there’s any change, let me know.”

The doctor had my bottle of spice in hand. “Certainly, Captain. I’m sure Chef will be back on the job by tomorrow.”


	4. Chapter 4

The next day I felt fine, physically—maybe even a little better than normal. Emotionally I was a hamster marathoning on the wheel of ‘OhGodwhatdidISay?’ and even though I went through my morning prep duties on autopilot, I couldn’t get my thoughts to settle down.

I’d made a pass--hell _several_ of them—at the captain. While I could plead that they’d been the result of being slightly out of my rational mind, the damage was done and now I’d have to deal with an immediate future of either supremely awkward encounters with Archer, or disapproving ones. Neither would make for a good working relationship and I wasn’t sure what to do. I considered an apology, but words weren’t my strong point, so I figured I could make my contrition through my forte, food. What I couldn’t say, I could bake, right?

So I baked. Four hours later I’d completed six completely from scratch cakes: lemon, French vanilla, chocolate, spice, mocha, and strawberry, all blank because I had no idea what to write on them beyond ‘sorry for my runaway libido.’ I got frustrated and decided to go take it out on one of the treadmills, running three miles before some sense of sanity made me get a grip.

“He said he wouldn’t bring it up and you have to _trust_ him on that,” I told my reflection in the bathroom mirror. “Whatever else you think about the man, he’s kept his word up to now. So gird up, woman.”

I made a few little vids to send off to folks—making sure NOT to mention my adventure in dopamine-enhancing spices. Then checked in with Doctor Phlox, who told me I was fine, and returned to the galley just in time to see the last of my cakes going out on little china plates to the swing shift.

“Maalik! Those weren’t for the crew!” I blurted out, feeling a sense of panic.

He looked at me in confusion. “They weren’t?”

“No! They were for . . .” I stopped myself because trying to explain why I’d made six different cakes for the captain was going to take me back into a story I didn’t want to tell.

Maalik arched an eyebrow at me and I sighed, “You know, this is for the best, actually. They’re fresh, and everyone deserves cake, right?”

“Yes, they do,” he agreed. “Especially the chocolate cake. Fran, I ask this as a friend—are you okay?”

“Yes,” I assured him and reached for my white jacket, slipping into it. “I’m good. I need to bake a few more cakes so dinner shift doesn’t get jealous.”

Later, when it was time to bring Archer his meal I steeled myself and carried in the platter, well-aware my face was red, but I was determined to be relaxed. He looked up at me as I came in, and Archer was kind of pink in the face too, but his expression was mild. I gave a little sigh and launched into my presentation for the night, which was lasagna al forno. 

The was no mistaking his little murmur of pleasure and that made things better too; serving pasta to a man who enjoyed it made me smile. I set the dessert platter aside without uncovering it, wished him a good meal and left, feeling relief. He’d get the message on the petit gateau and with luck, my icing note of ‘thanks’ would help us get past this.

And in the meantime, I’d avoid blue coriander.

*** *** ***

The next few weeks were hectic, at least for the crew. I got stories trickling down from the bridge and heard conversations in the Mess Hall about mechanical problems, alien encounters, long, boring science data collection missions and the constant need for repairs.

“Shake-down is right,” Chief Engineer Tucker told me as I served him a stack of pancakes. “There’s a whole lot of shaking—too damned _much_ shaking—going on.”

“I haven’t felt it,” I assured him, which was true. There had been a few lurches and one night when the klaxons had gone off every few minutes for about an hour but other than that, I hadn’t noticed much.

“Yeah, well I appreciate the confidence,” Tucker smiled, “but it’s still a maiden voyage and she’s bein’ made to strut her stuff. Oh, is this real maple syrup?”

I gave him my best ‘I’m disappointed you actually asked me’ look and he laughed. Tucker was a good man to cook for: liked nearly everything and made sure his engineering teams ate before he did. He and Maalik had a shared fondness for Go, and played it a lot when they were off-duty, so I considered him good for my kitchen’s morale.

“So when are you gonna let the Captain make his move?” Tucker asked me and I nearly dropped the coffee I was pouring for him. The look on my face made him grin and he added, “Oh come on, Chef! Everyone _knows_ he’s got a crush on you!”

“No he doesn’t,” I automatically countered. “ _Sei pazzo,_ Tucker! Completely crazy!”

He took a sip of the coffee, his words muffled. “Un-huh, well _I’m_ not the one gettin’ _my_ requisitions on the fast track at every stop-over.”

“That’s to keep you all fed,” I pointed out with a little exasperation. 

“Sure it is,” he snickered. “Along with all those little comments ‘bout how much he likes your cooking. Tell you what—I can prove he’s sweet on you.”

I took a moment to sit at the table and crossed my arms. “Not that it matters, but how? We’re not in school, Chief Tucker; it’s not like you can look for graffiti in his locker.”

Tucker smiled again and I’ll say this; the man had a charming grin. Nona Maria would have called him an imp for certain. “Word has it we’re due for a little shore leave on Risa in a week,” he murmured. 

I nodded; Maalik and I already had a list of restaurants we wanted to visit there . . . along with a few other places of course. I was dying to try out at least one of the legendary spas.

“Well,” he drawled, “If I let on that you and I have plans to meet up down there, I’m betting the Captain is gonna have a few things to say about that.”

“Yeah, like ‘good luck at the gaming tables,’ or ‘don’t blow all your pay on souvenirs,’” I snickered. “Aside from the usual warnings, which every captain gives their crews going on shore leave, he’s not going to care, believe me. Archer has more important things to worry about.”

“He does,” Tucker admitted, “but he’ll say something, trust me. Is it a bet?”

I held his gaze. “What am I going to win on this?”

Tucker thought it over, running a hand on his chin. “I could build that extension for the disposable garbage chute you and Maalik want; move up the priority list to number one.”

“Yes,” I nodded. “And if there’s any remote possibility that you win, what do you want?”

The impish grin became downright devilish. “You mean _when_. And I’d like a seven course dinner for me and my team—the works, you hear? I’ll give you plenty of advance notice, but . . . that’s what I want.” 

I held out my hand. “Yeah, well get your tools ready, because that chute is as good as built.”

Tucker kept a straight face, but his eyes were bright as he slapped his palm against mine and shook hard. “Oh _you’re_ the one who needs to get ready . . . and that includes your pots and pans. Game on, sister.”

I made it a point to write out the bet and post it on the wall of my quarters, and every time I saw it I chuckled to myself at how dumb it was. Sure Archer was the captain and he’d probably give us all the standard ‘behave yourselves’ lecture but beyond that, he’d be caught up in his own shore leave.

About three days in, Lieutenant Sath sidled up to me. “So, got plans for Risa?”

I gave him a weary look. As a quartermaster, Sath was extremely good at supplying Maalik and me with what we needed, but he was also scuttlebutt central, in on every rumor and bit of gossip circulating on the ship. Most of the time that was sort of helpful, but his current comment meant that my bet with Tucker was now or soon would be common knowledge.

“I may,” I hedged. “It depends.”

“I bet,” Sath laughed. “Get it, bet?”

“Savorn, don’t you have things to do?” I made it a point to look busy myself, pulling out vegetables to wash. Sath was in no hurry to go, though; he leaned against one of the prep islands and grinned at me.

He was a lean guy, short, bright-eyed, with a real fondness for the satay skewers Maalik prepared and irritated as I was by his current comments I couldn’t help but smile.

“Look, all I’m saying is that rumor is Tucker’s going ask you out,” Sath shrugged. “Just thought I’d warn you.”

“Warn me?” I looked up from the green peppers in the sink.

“Well yeah. Knowing Tucker he’s got a reason to spread it around and I think it’s possible there’s a wager in it,” Sath replied. “And if that’s the case, I want in.”

I had to take a deep breath before I asked in my most patient voice, “Why?”

“Chef, the Enterprise is a great ship doing great things, but there are stretches that are pretty . . . boring. Ensign Sato has her poker game locked up, and there are only so many drone races you can stage before people get antsy. Last ship-wide bet was over how long it would take Lieutenant Reed to break out in hives.”

“Hey, that was NOT food-related,” I defended myself automatically. “It was that decontamination gel.”

“Yeah,” Sath snickered. “Anyway, if Tucker is making a big noise about asking you out, there’s a reason. Not that you’re not hot stuff,” he backed up a step because I was scowling, “er, you _are_ , Chef.

“Thanks,” I shot back. “So you want to know if he’s asked me, or if he has if I’ve said yes.”

“Oh I know he hasn’t asked yet,” Sath assured me. “All I want is the inside track on whether you’re going to say yes or not.”

“I haven’t spoken to Chief Engineer Tucker since breakfast on Monday,” I said, buying a little more time.

“Just a clue--” at that moment a hail came over the galley com and I stepped over to answer it.

“Is Lieutenant Sath there, Chef? We’ve got an issue with the bio storage freezer on deck B,” came a crewman’s voice.

Sath gave a sigh of frustration and pointed at me, even as he began to head out. “Seriously, Chef. I’ll cut you in if you give me a tip!”

I rolled my eyes. The fact that Tucker’s comments were on the party line didn’t really surprise me, and I wondered if Archer would hear them before his chief engineer was ready.

And yes, I wondered if Archer would say anything. He’d hired me and he was protective of me—carrying my stoned butt to Sick Bay kind of proved that. But he was the captain and I was pretty sure he’d have done the same for anyone on the ship. Sighing, I got back to preparing the peppers.

*** *** *** 

As it turned out, I was present when Tucker made his big announcement, something I’m sure he’d planned. He and Archer were having dinner in the Captain’s mess, and I’d just brought in their grilled mango and tandoori game hens when he shot me a mischievous grin.

“And _this_ pretty lady and I are definitely on for a dinner at the Luminous Lounge!”

I set the platter down, although for a second I was tempted to dump it in Tucker’s lap. Instead, I shot the Chief Engineer as bland a look as I could manage as I served up his dinner, which was tough considering I could feel my own blush.

“You . . . and Chef?” Archer managed, his tone very bewildered. I served up his hen, doing my best not to say a word, but when I made the mistake of meeting his gaze I cleared my throat.

“To be fair,” I murmured, “I haven’t been invited, yet.” 

Before Tucker could correct his oversight, I swept out as quickly as I could, and planted myself against the adjoining wall in the galley, listening. Yes it was immature and sneaky but I hadn’t gotten to be as independent as I was without a few self-serving moves. Through the bulkhead I could hear Tucker, laughing a little.

“--Jest a formality. I was going to ask her after dinner.”

“I . . . see,” that was Archer, and it wasn’t my imagination; his tone sounded cool. “Well do you really think the Luminous Lounge is the best place to take her?”

There was a pause and I dearly wished I could see their faces.

“Well sure . . . it’s got a nice view of the bay and they say the lighting is all bio-synchronic. Everybody looks good there.”

“What I _meant,_ Trip, was the food.” Now Archer’s voice was chilling up, and I tried not to grin. Good man—he knew what I’d be interested in.

“Yeah, they’ve got food,” Tucker sounded confused now. “But it’s her shore leave so it’s not going to be that big a deal. Even Chef needs to get out of her kitchen once in a while.”

Archer laughed and even I through the bulkhead I could hear how dubious it was. “Oh boy. Well if you’re taking her to the Luminous, it’s going to be . . . an interesting time. Let me know how that goes.”

“I will. Or not,” Tucker was grumbling a little now, and in the galley I was grinning.

Score one for the captain.

When I came in to pick up the dishes forty minutes later and deliver the krumkake, Tucker looked up at me, not quite so merry this time. “Good chicken, Chef.”

“Thank you. I find the tiniest bit of char puts a kick into the flavor of the marinade.”

“And it was real tasty. Say, Chef, would you do me the honor of dinner at the Luminous Lounge once we get to Risa?” Tucker asked, his emphatic tone making it clear I’d better agree.

“Of course,” I nodded. “Sounds like . . . an adventure.”

I gave him a perfunctory smile and glanced at Archer, who pursed his mouth but said . . . nothing. After collecting the plates I stepped out and back to my previous spot at the bulkhead, wondering if I’d miscalculated.

“What are your plans, Captain?”

“Oh I figured Porthos and I could hike the trail to the Lyrical Falls, and I might do some swimming,” I heard Archer reply. 

“Sounds real nice,” Tucker responded. “Probably do you good to get away from the rest of us, huh?”

The answer to that was a grunt and I figured that was as much eavesdropping as I wanted to do. I cleaned up the dishes and was on my way back to my quarters when an idea hit me, so I changed my direction and headed for Sath’s office, considering what I wanted to bargain.


	5. Chapter 5

The bio storage issue meant that an entire bin of flash frozen peas had to be disposed of, and Maalik was pissed. He grumbled as he tried to rework the menu for the skeleton crew who’d be managing the ship while the rest of us were on the planet, and that meant scrubbing the pea soup, the aaloo matar and the Turkish stew from the offerings, so he was not happy.

“Rotten peas! I suppose it could be _worse_ ,” he groused. “We could have lost the sea bass, or the Valencia oranges.” Maalik shook his head. “You do not _know_ disaster until you’re faced with the death perfume of moldy oranges, Fran. It’s hideous!”

“Ugh,” I commiserated. “In Toronto, I once found an entire crate of slimy peaches AND a rat munching on them.”

Maalik shuddered. “Rats. Thank the Granth we don’t have those aboard! Or roaches.”

“So far,” I pointed out. “So you’ve got this?”

“Eh, I’ll substitute cauliflower in the stew and go for palak paneer instead. We’re good.” He looked at me and smiled. “You look ready for Risa.”

I shrugged, but was tickled he’d noticed my mint mini-dress and sandals. “Yeah I really am. See you in two days and then it will be your turn. Thanks for keeping the hearth, dōsata.”

Grinning, Maalik waved me off and I headed for the shuttlebay, carrying my backpack, getting startled looks from the people I passed. As a civilian I wasn’t required to wear a uniform, so I took advantage of that. Once at the shuttle, I spotted Archer, who was talking to the pilot. He did a quick once over on me before clearing his throat. “Wow . . . _some_ one’s in a shore leave mindset.” His tone let me know he approved and I smiled as I fished in my backpack.

“Yep. I have something for you and Porthos.”

He took the little booklet from me and glanced at it. “Yeah?”

“A hiking guide to Risa,” I told him. “I don’t think they have any rabbits on the planet but I bet he’s going to check every bush to make sure.”

Archer laughed and tucked it into his breast pocket. “Thanks, Chef. Oh, and . . .” he leaned closer to me as the shuttle began to fill up, “Are you _sure_ about that dinner with Tucker?”

“So you read the reviews for the Luminous Lounge too?” I teased.

The captain looked bashful . . . and adorable at the same time. “Yeah. When it comes to fine cuisine I’ve gotten a little spoiled on this mission.”

“Good!” I smiled. “I said yes so I’m _obligated_ to go, but I don’t think I’ll be eating much. I’ll save my appetite for Zarlu’s, frankly.”

He looked like he wanted to say something more but the pilot called, “Hustle up if you want to make the flight!” and the opportunity was gone. For the whole trip down I debated whether he was about to ask me if I wanted company for that dinner, or whether I should have offered, but it was too late now.

*** *** *** 

To his credit, Chief Tucker was waiting for me that night out in front of the Lounge, looking freshly showered and downright mischievous. I gave him a wave and came over, smiling. “Not a spot of grease on the man anywhere—do I _know_ you?”

“Hey I’m not the only one all cleaned up nice,” he replied flirtatiously and offered his arm. “Shall we?”

The maître d’ welcomed us and had a server lead us to a nice booth that had a great view of Suraya bay. I was amused at how Tucker seemed nervous. When we settled in, he looked at me seriously.

“Chef, I hope you take this the right way, but . . .”

“But this is a dinner you got us into because you thought you knew Archer better than you do?” I finished, arching an eyebrow at him.

He laughed, and toyed with his menu. “I _do_ know him pretty damned well, but yeah. I was sure he’d kick up a fuss about bringing you here. I mean--” Tucker set the menu down again and glanced at me. “The truth? You slip into his conversation pretty regularly, and that’s not a little thing, not for a guy like Jon Archer. You have to know this, right?”

“No,” I responded, half my attention on the menu. When I glanced up, Tucker looked stunned.

“Hey, I thought women had some built-in second sight about stuff like this. Every gal _I’ve_ ever been sweet on seemed to know it well before I told ‘em so.”

“That’s because you radiate charm,” I teased him, before adding, “The captain hired me, Trip. Our association is professional.”

He cocked his head, looking doubtful. “Mighta started that way, sure, but . . .”

A waitress wandered over, her smile focused on Tucker. “Something to drink, dear guests?”

We were talked into a pair of Moonlight Mellows, and when she glided off, promising to return for our dinner orders, I set my menu down and sighed.

“So he didn’t kick up a fuss?” I asked, pretty sure of the answer.

Tucker, however, wasn’t paying attention, and I had to tap his knuckles to get him to look at me. “Oh, sorry.” He reached over and took my hand, squeezing it; I felt his calluses. “No, he didn’t kick up a fuss . . . _verbally_ , that is.”

“So he kicked up a non-verbal fuss?” our drinks arrived and I took a sip, blinking as my taste buds registered a poorly mixed drink of powdered peach mix, stale grenadine and something in the triple digit zone, proof-wise. I coughed a little. “S-strong,” I warned Tucker.

He took a sip and flinched a little before swallowing. “Oh that’s got a kick all right. And yeah, it was non-verbal. Jon glared and harrumphed pretty good—you’ll have to take my word for it, but the man was not happy. He’s still not happy.”

I snorted. “Yeah?”

“Yep. Can I tell you a secret?” Tucker leaned forward, lowering his voice and I had to lean in to hear him. When I did, he murmured. “He’s sitting at a table one over behind you, in fact.”

I froze. “You’re shitting me.”

Tucker grinned. “Nnnnnope. Now what would make a man who clearly didn’t approve of this place show up on the _very_ night we’re here?”

It was a good thing he was holding my hand because I gripped it tightly enough to make Tucker wince a bit.

“Owwwww,” he muttered, still keeping a smile on his face. “Engineer here; I sort of _need_ those fingers to work, Chef.”

“You’re lucky I don’t have my cleaver with me,” I hissed back. “Both of you!”

“Hey, hey!” Tucker protested, leaning in again, “Just because you’re losing our bet is no reason to threaten me. Truth is you ought to be flattered.”

“Hard to feel flattered when what I’m really feeling is _manipulated_ ,” I would have said more but the waitress returned right then. I ordered the seafood salad and Tucker went for the pork chops. Once she’d written it down and moved away, I sighed.

“It’s really him?” I had to know.

“Yep,” Tucker kept his gaze on mine, and one corner of his mouth went up. “I could have kept my mouth shut, but you deserved to know.”

“And you think this means you’ve won the bet?” I challenged him, feeling a mingled sense of exasperation and amusement. The fact that Archer was here did mean something to me, but I wasn’t sure what. 

“Come on now; I’d say it’s pretty conclusive evidence,” he pointed out. “But if you want more . . .” so saying, Tucker lifted my hand to his lips.

“Chief . . .” I warned, but I couldn’t help grinning as well. 

He pretended to point out something in the bay, murmuring, “Annd the captain just spilled his drink. Now I’m not going to push things too hard; it’s my shore leave too and I don’t intend to spend it in Sick Bay, but that’s got to be definitive.”

I pretended to drop my napkin, and as I retrieved it, I shot a quick glance back through the restaurant. Archer was easy to spot; the man couldn’t slouch to save his life so those big shoulders were a dead giveaway. When I straightened up, Tucker was biting back another grin.

“Told ya he was there.”

I grumbled a curse in Italian but it was more reflexive than anything since yes it was clear Tucker had won the bet. For a moment we sat simply looking at each other and finally I sighed.

“Fine. A seven-course meal for you and your engineering team, date to be determined.”

“See, was that so hard?” he pretended to commiserate. The waitress came back with a tray and set our meals down, which gave me a reason not to answer. I stared at mine.

The plating was nothing special, a standard ring of chunked seafood on a bed of lettuce with a limp sprig of parsley on the side. There was a faint odor though, and there shouldn’t have been. I glanced at Tucker’s plate.

The chops were dark. Too dark, and the anemic rice had no fluff to it. 

“No,” I sighed. “Don’t touch it.”

“What?” Tucker didn’t get it, and I leaned forward, talking softly.  
“The crab in this salad is just on the point of spoiling, and your chops are criminally overcooked. That rice was previously frozen and reheated at the wrong temperature—Trip,” I muttered, using his first name to make my point, “this is crap. I can’t believe they’re charging what they’re charging for this.”

He looked down and the longer he stared, the more annoyed his face got. “Ohhh.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Look, it was nice of you to invite me out, but I’m not going to let us get food poisoning. Come on.”

I got up and took a breath. With the slow practice born of appreciating a little drama, I picked up my plate and made a show of setting it on the floor.

“What are you doing?” Tucker demanded, fearful and fascinated at the same time.

“The ultimate insult to any chef,” I told him. “When food isn’t fit to eat, you set it on the ground for the animals.”

I took his plate and did the same thing to it. A few people were staring now, and the waitress looked shocked.

“Is everything all right?” she babbled, looking at the dishes and then at me. Behind her I could see other service people darting into the kitchen to pass the word along and the maître d’ was hurrying towards us.

“No,” I told her quietly. “This food is not only sub par, it’s dangerous. I will not pay for these meals. This,” I dropped a few credits on the table, “is for your service, however, which was lovely.”

She gawped a little, not moving, and I glanced around the restaurant, avoiding Archer’s table and waiting for the inevitable.

It came. The kitchen door flew open and a burly man in an apron charged out, his expression thunderous. He marched up to me and glared in my face. “Oh, so my food is _unacceptable_ is it?”

The maître d’ managed to wedge himself between us, looking stressed. “Vonok, calm down! Let the customer speak!”

“It is,” I told him, keeping my voice low and even. “I don’t know if your refrigerator is broken or you’re careless, but the seafood is on the edge of turning. These pork chops are burned, and you’ve scraped them to pass them off. And the rice--- _auitami Dio_! Make it fresh or don’t offer it at all, understand?”

He glared at me and I felt the whole place looking at both of us, and then he waved towards his kitchen. “In there,” he ordered gruffly.

I shot a look at Tucker and one towards Archer, nodding to let them know it was all right, and I followed the man towards the swinging doors, steeling myself when I passed through them.

The man—Vonok—turned to me and . . . lost it. He started to cry in that big blubbery way a heavyset man does. I looked around the kitchen even as I reached to pat his shoulder and I saw everything I needed to see.

“It’s just _you_ right now,” I commented quietly, “isn’t it? And you’re in over your head.”

“Hazo left,” Vonok snuffled. “ _He_ does the meats, not me! And Lorcaz was supposed to be here but he’s moonlighting at Zarlus’ tonight. I’m _just_ the prep manager! We’ve been short-handed for _weeks_ , But no, we can’t close, we’re the famous Luminous Lounge even though Tanis promised to hire new chefs and hasn’t done it. You’re right, lady guest, you’re right but it’s too _late_ to fix it now!”

And that’s how I ended up working the rest of the night.


	6. Chapter 6

The rapping on my door roused me and I realized by the angle of the light that it was morning. Sluggishly I made my way over, trying not to grumble, but it was hard, and I yawned as I opened it. “Yeah?”

Oh shit. Archer stood there in a plain shirt and shorts, hands on his hips.

Double shit; I was in a tank top and bikini panties. I shoved the door to an angle to hide my sleepwear, but the damage had already been done.

“Go away! I’m on my time off!” I called to him, well-aware _I_ was blushing, that _he_ was blushing and at our feet, Porthos was trying to lick my toes.

“Tell me again how you ended up cooking all night, AND created a new menu, AND organized a mutual support network among the restaurant workers of Risa all within a day of being on this planet!” he demanded, although his tone was light. “Honest to God, Franny, I can’t let you go off on your own _anywhere_!”

“Hey!” I protested back, trying not to show too much of my body. “It wasn’t _my_ fault Vonok needed help and I could give it, you know. If Tanis A’Belk wasn’t going to do the right thing by his cook and his customers, then _I_ was. And I’d do it again in a _heartbeat_ because that poor guy was in the weeds and sinking fast, Jon—he _cried_ for Pete’s sake!”

“And roping my chief _engineer_ into making salads?” Archer was shaking his head, but I could see he was almost smiling now. “Get dressed, we need to talk.”

I rummaged around. I found some shorts, my sandals, shook my hair out and stepped out of my guest cottage, trying to look unruffled.

Trying anyway. 

Porthos was delighted and snuffled my toes, his tail wagging madly. Archer nudged him away and started walking, his pace slow as we headed for the beach.

“So, while _you_ were serving up fancy dishes and hiring a kitchen crew for a restaurant you’d taken over, _I_ was getting an earful from the tourist commission of Risa,” he began. “Which was _not_ how I wanted to spend my first night on shore leave, by the way.”

“You wouldn’t have had to if A’Belk had been running his place right,” I sulked. “Seriously, I’m surprised they were still _open_ given what I found in the kitchen.”

“They shouldn’t have been,” Archer agreed with me, and I stared up at him. “I was going to tell you that yes, the commission was aware of the dropping standards of the Luminous Lounge. Most of them are pleased you stepped in for the night and prevented some serious food poisoning. As of this morning the place is closed for renovation which is probably best for everyone concerned.”

“Ah,” I managed, feeling a little confused. We’d reached the edge of the water and Archer was fishing in his pocket. “So . . . what happens now?”

“Now,” Archer growled, “we stay out of the way. Trip and the rest of the crew are off doing whatever they’re choosing to do and we all stick to being _tourists_ for the rest of this visit, understand?” His tone was still light, but I could tell he meant what he said. Apparently, he had a ball in his pocket because Porthos was dancing around, waiting for the throw.

I kicked my sandals off and worked my toes into the sand. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he echoed for emphasis, and threw the ball up the beach. Porthos was off like a shot.

We didn’t say anything for a few minutes, and I glanced at him. He was staring at the bay, still looking tense. “Hey,” I reached over and laid a hand on Archer’s forearm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think things were going to happen the way they did, okay?”

He sighed. “Yeah I know. Asking you not to care about food is like asking Porthos not to chew rawhide.”

“Thanks for the analogy,” I snorted as Porthos came charging back, mouth full of ball, tail wagging. Archer reached down to dandle the dog’s ears and spoke again. “You did the right thing,” he murmured, wrestling the ball away. “Even Trip agrees.”

I waited a moment. “Speaking of Trip,” I began, stepping closer to Archer to glare up him, “I was under the impression that he and I would be going to the Luminous. What were _you_ doing there?”

I had him dead to rights, and Archer looked down at me, caught. He tossed the ball from hand to hand before clearing his throat. “Just making sure you, ah, didn’t get the full-court press.”

I looked at him, waiting for elaboration, and finally Archer gave a shake of his head. “Trip is . . . a bit of a ladies’ man. Or _thinks_ he is, anyway.” 

“And you felt honor-bound to save me?” Oh I HAD to hear this.

“Maybe I was saving him from _you_ ,” Archer countered. “You can be ferocious at times.”

“What?”

“Waving big knives, deliberately insulting other chefs,” Archer warmed to the idea. “Maybe Reed ought to consider you a weapon in your own right.”

“You are so full of it,” I spluttered, laughing despite myself. “I don’t care if you ARE the captain of a starship. Full. Of. IT.”

Porthos gave a little chuff of frustration since Archer hadn’t thrown the ball yet, so he did, letting it skip over the sand in a lazy grounder. Archer turned back to me and his smile was . . . shy. Uncertain. Here was a man I’d seen in full confidence from day one and now . . . 

“Here,” He fished something out of his other pocket and handed it to me: a luxury pass to all the top tier spas, shops, and salons in Risa. I gulped when I saw it, afraid to take the thing from his hand. 

“I . . . I can’t. That’s worth three month’s pay!”

“Take it. Porthos and I are hiking to Lyrical Falls for the day,” Archer told me, ignoring my qualms. “Tonight, you and I will go to Zarlu’s and you can tell me what to order there.”

“Tell me this was a gift from the tourist commission!” I pleaded. “Right?”

“Will you take the damned thing if I do?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a gift from the tourist commission,” Archer promptly asserted, holding my gaze. “Now go be a _tourist_ and I let me tire out my dog, Franny. I’ll see you at nineteen hundred hours.”

He took my hand, pressed the pass into it and waited until my fingers curled around it before managing another faint smile. “Your hair looks good down. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it loose.”

“Kitchen regulations,” I replied automatically and added, “thanks.”

He laughed and moved away, whistling for Porthos as I watched him stride off, feeling a sort of delicious dread as I squeezed the pass.

*** *** ***

If you’ve never had a Nuvian massage, I highly recommend them. I wasn’t sure what part of my body the Nuvia would be, but found out later that it was a technique, not a spot, and damn what a technique. Ended up so relaxed I flowed off the anti-grav table. 

Then I got my hair polished and given a hint of peach tint, got my eyelashes thickened and had a little fight with the manicurist who wouldn’t take ‘can’t have long nails in the food industry’ as a reason to skip out of rainbow talons. (I won: no bizarre nails.) The tattooist wanted to scroll glitter vines up my legs, but I bowed out of that too, opting instead to shop for a dress.

Most of Risa is very casual when it comes to clothing. Given that I’ve occasionally visited clothing optional beaches in my life I’m not a prude, but I wasn’t about to go too risqué in front of Archer, so it took some time to looking for a simple linen jumper. I found one in a shade of toasted coconut and I snapped it up, knowing it would be perfect, then made it back to my little cottage, hung it up and took a nap.

Tried to, anyway. I was going to have dinner with the Captain and it seemed very . . . date-like. He was calling me by my first name and had handed me a pass that I strongly suspected had no association at all with the tourist board of Risa. Part of me wanted to not care, and just treat it like a dinner with a colleague. The other part of me knew I couldn’t.

Working in kitchens had given me backside knowledge of relationships among co-workers, and it was a colorful mixed bag. I’d seen a near stabbing, a lot of fights, some deliberate sabotage and more flung food than I care to remember. Also though, some serenades, lots of flower deliveries, and absolutely amazing support and love through dinner rushes, openings and anniversaries.

I guess the takeaway is that like anything else worth doing and serving well, relationships take work. Anyone skimping by was going to get caught or heartbroken in the end, so if you were determined to start cooking with somebody, you needed to work on getting it right.

Archer wasn’t my employer; Starfleet was. Nevertheless, he was still in charge of the ship I was on, and I had to keep that in mind, whatever else happened.

IF anything happened.

 

Zarlu’s was tucked away at the end of a long spit of land that jutted out into the water; customers had to walk the length out to the restaurant which made it a bit more exclusive than the usual eatery on Risa, apparently. There were people ahead of us but nobody behind us, and the light was just fading into twilight. Sort of a perfect time of the day, really. Next to me, Archer was slowing his long stride so that I wouldn’t have to hurry to keep up with him.

He was in a thin grey sweater that showed off those shoulders and nice slacks, which made me a little nervous because it sort of confirmed the date theory for me. I didn’t know if Zarlu’s had a dress code, but we’d pass if they did. I even smelled a hint of aftershave.

Apparently, Archer liked my outfit; he’d told me in that gruff way of his that I looked, ‘very nice’ but it was the quick swallow and deep breath that reassured me I’d made the right choice. I’d left my hair down and it hung just past my shoulders, glowing from the polishing treatment. When I glanced at him he was looking at me. 

“So where’s Porthos?”

“Sprawled on a blanket, snoring,” Archer smiled. “Completely worn out. I actually had to carry him halfway back from the falls.”

I laughed. “Any rabbits?”

“Nope. A few squirrel-looking creatures and some of the jumping fish at the falls caught his attention, not that he managed to nab any. No, he just spent hours racing around, alerting everything he was there and ready for a chase.”

“A beagle’s work is never done.”

“As long as there is something to sniff, no,” he agreed, chuckling.

We reached the archway entrance to Zarlu’s where a pair of attendants welcomed us. “Ah yes, the chef and her escort!” one of them cooed at us. I shot Archer a glance, wondering how he felt about being called an escort but he merely nodded. 

One of the attendants led us to a table in a little glass alcove that offered not only a nice view of the ocean at the sides but also under our feet, so the illusion of floating over the water was charming.

“Presentation is half the meal,” I told Archer, who was looking around, and he grinned.

The menus were holographic, glowing on the tabletop at the perfect angle and the choices! I was lost looking it over, wondering where to start. I actually forgot about Archer as I considered what to order, and it was only when I finally looked up that I realized he was smiling at me.

“Welcome back,” he murmured, making me blush.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just . . . so much to consider!” I pointed out. “Choices were never so hard!”

“We can make it a two for one,” Archer offered. “You order for both of us and I’d be more than willing to let you sample my meal. Good enough?”

I nodded. “Thank you,” I told him. “That’s very generous of you.”

Archer shrugged and looked at the menu again. “So . . . what do we get?”

After a lot of discussion and debate, I settled on the seafood medley and Archer chose the mixed grill. We didn’t have a waiter; we spoke our selections to the gleaming centerpiece, along with drink orders. Once that was done I leaned back in my chair, taking a deep breath.

“I didn’t realize selecting dinner was such a tough command decision,” Archer teased. 

“It would be different if I knew we’d be here a _week_ or longer,” I pointed out. “Right now this is a one-shot so I want us to have the best of the best.” It sounded unexpectedly . . . deep once I said it, and I felt my face go red. 

“Yes,” he agreed, and looked down at the table. The pause between us was starting to get awkward, so I cleared my throat to get his attention again.

“So, what _is_ this?” I asked. “I kind of need to know because not knowing is making me nervous, Jon.”

He pursed his mouth. “To be honest, I’m not sure. If you were Trip, or T’Pol this would be dinner. But you’re not, and because of that . . .” he trailed off, looking uncertain. 

“Is this a _date_?” I went for blunt, leaning over the table to hold his gaze and I realized he had green eyes.

“Yes?” 

“Okay then,” I tried not to laugh, partially out of relief and partially because he looked so sweetly perplexed in asking it back. “Good. If this is a date, then I’m going to insist that we’re _not_ going to talk about the Enterprise, or Starfleet or anything related. Instead, you should tell me about your parents and all your favorite places in San Francisco.”

He looked reassured, and I watched some of the tension go out of his frame. “Henry and Sally,” Archer murmured. “Dad was an engineer and my mom was an English teacher.”

“All right then,” I nodded. “My dad Antonio was a meteorologist and my mom Lucia is a psychologist.”

We talked. I found out that we both thought more should be done to preserve the Marin headlands; that the 2148 Giants should have won the World Series and that both of us liked City Lights bookstore on Columbus Avenue. The drinks came, and my Starlight Stinger was perfect, crisp with just a hint of sweetness. Archer was having a beer and he seemed to like it too.

By the time the meals arrived on little elegant drones, settling down in front of us, I was a lot more comfortable. I said grace without being self-conscious and then studied my plate. Out of the corner of my eye I noted Archer hadn’t started eating yet---he was watching me.

“Is it a sacred moment?” he whispered teasingly.

“Almost,” I replied. My seafood medley was a luscious creation of braised shrimp and scallops beautifully piled on a broiled filet and topped with an upright garnish of bamboo and a single frangipani blossom. “This plating is lovely. Let’s take a look at yours.”

In front of the captain was a pair of crossed ebony skewers with cubes of beef loin, lamb chunks and chicken wrapped in bacon, all still sizzling from the grill. An artistic knot of rosemary graced one corner of the plate at 2 o’clock, framing the dab of horseradish there. I sighed in delight.

“Gorgeous. The care and artistry here are top-notch. They get an A for that alone.”

“Does how it looks really make that much of a difference?” Archer wanted to know, and then caught himself. “Stupid question.”

I reached over and patted his forearm. “You’re learning,” I smiled at him, “and yes, it does. If you were meeting with the ambassador from some new planet, would you show up in your everyday work uniform?”

“No,” he responded dutifully, but there was that quirk at the corner of his mouth.

“Exactly. In theory the work uniform would be . . . acceptable. I mean you wouldn’t be naked, and you’d be representing Starfleet at the bare minimum. But by wearing your dress uniform, and going a step further, by adding some small token from the ambassador’s planet—say an iconic symbol or precious stone—the impression you’d make would change the outcome of your meeting completely. What we’re eating is at the basic level just seafood and grilled meat. But, presented the way it is, we’re opening ourselves up for a much _nicer_ dining experience.”

I felt my face heating up under his intense scrutiny, and Archer finally chuckled. “I _knew_ I picked the right person to eat dinner with.”


	7. Chapter 7

The meals were fabulous. I could have gotten a lot pickier but there wouldn’t have been any reason to; I was letting myself enjoy them instead of openly critiquing them. Part of it was because from the presentation on I knew Zarlu’s reputation was well deserved. 

The other part was being with Archer. He was funny and charming, making me laugh and listening to me when I spoke, which was almost intoxicating because I didn’t have many people in my life who did that. My mother and Aunt always half-listened, waiting to say something before I was finished talking. Even my ex, Jacob had preferred to speak than to listen and expected me to be all ears. 

But Archer asked questions and paid attention to the answers, which was nice. I asked my fair share as well, and by the time the centerpiece was making suggestions for dessert (“We recommend the Tulian coffee cream mousse with demitasse of espresso.”) I was gastronomically and spiritually satisfied. The restaurant was everything the reviews had said it was, and I’d had a terrific evening.

“ _One_ dessert,” I told Archer, “Choose wisely.”

“Going with the house recommendation then,” he nodded.

“Okay, this is obscenely decadent,” I sighed when the glossy creation arrived and landed on our table. “Their glacier gets five stars.”

We slowly polished it off and I wasn’t a bit ashamed to do it, marveling in the creamy textures. Desserts are a marvelous vocation all on their own and while I was better than fair at making most of them, I didn’t have the dedication to specialize.

“I have to go talk to the staff, and thank them personally,” I told Archer, who just grinned and waved me off. 

“Busman’s holiday—go for it.”

Of course it took a while to do that, and by the time I came back to the table it was clear he’d paid the bill. I made it a point to add to the already generous tip on the table and took the arm Archer offered as we strolled out. 

“That was wonderful,” I told him quietly. “Thank you for _all_ of it.”

He gave a little sigh. “You’re welcome. Thank you. It’s been one of the nicest nights _I’ve_ had in a long time.”

We walked slowly, enjoying the night air and the slow susurration of the waves on either side of the path. I had all sorts of considerations going on in my head about whether to invite Archer in, or suggest something to drink . . . I was so busy mulling over these thoughts that I nearly missed his soft throat clearing. 

“That’s the Antares system.” He pointed up and out to the left. “I plan on going there.”

“Looks cold; take a sweater,” I teased.

He smirked at that and pointed in another direction. “And that’s Pyceles Minor. It’s the first time I’ve seen it outside of a computer screen.”

I nodded. “You know your night skies,” I agreed, wondering what this was all about.

“It’s just . . .” Archer looked up, his expression the tiniest bleak. “I’ve wanted to go to these places for a long time, Franny. Most of my life, in fact. I’ve studied and planned and worked to get here, out beyond Earth. Out IN the stars.”

“And you did it,” I assured him. “Nice job.”

His gaze dropped, and he laughed, shoulders shaking a bit. Archer pulled me into his arms and I snuggled in, enjoying the warmth.

“Was that sarcasm? I’m trying to make a point here,” he mumbled into my hair. 

“No sarcasm,” I promised. “I know you worked hard for your assignment; I’ve heard the stories. You should be proud of what you’ve achieved, you’re good at it.”

“Some of it,” Archer amended, his hold on me tightening a little. “Not all of it. Astro-navigation and engineering, yeah. Diplomacy . . . not so much.”

“Eh, comes with practice,” I said, overwhelmed by the feel of his body against mine. I wasn’t sure I could stay coherent for long. From the way he was holding me I sensed it was mutual. I’d missed this more than I wanted to admit, this warm closeness with someone nice.

“Maybe . . .” he sighed. “It’s just . . . I’ve spent so much time focused on getting here that I’ve neglected _other_ aspects of my life. I’m starting to realize that.”

“Mmm?” I was enjoying this hug a LOT.

“Yeah,” Archer replied, his voice thick. “And it’s catching up with me.”

He was nuzzling my hair now, a move he must have learned from Porthos, and it made me giggle. I squeezed him, startling Archer with my strength because he gave a little groan of pleasure.

“I like you,” I told him. “I like _this_. I think we both need _more_ of . . . this.”

“Amen to that,” Archer agreed. I lifted my face and he kissed me. 

Slow, hot and sweet. A thousand little jolts of pleasure shuddered through me and I moaned, giving myself to the kiss, kissing him back, feeling reckless and happy and lost in the sheer sweetness of it all.

When I pulled back, mostly to breathe, Archer looked pretty glazed himself. “Oh Franny . . .” he sighed, and kissed me again, this time with that added ‘oomph’ of good old-fashioned lust added to the mix. My grip on him tightened as his did on me and I’m not sure how either of us remained upright, to be honest, but I finally had to drop my face and laugh a little, still clinging to him.

“This is really tricky,” I managed. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Archer admitted. His hands were roaming up and down my back, each bottom pass sliding further down towards my ass. 

“I don’t want to get you in trouble,” I managed. “Or distract you.”

“Too late,” Archer gave a rueful laugh. “I was distracted by the second night in San Francisco at the State House. Franny, you’re smart and the best at what you do. You’re one of the few people on the ship I know I can count on any hour to do the right thing and on top of that you drive me crazy just carrying dinner in every night!”

I laughed at that. “Really?”

“Cross my heart. You glide, and when it’s something you’re really proud of, you get this, this _sultry_ look on your face. I feel like an emperor when you do that,” he sighed, his grin a little twisted. 

I reached up and cupped his face smiling up at him. “Funny, you don’t _look_ like a penguin.”

“Ha-ha,” Archer snorted. “Funny. Baring my soul to you and you’re comparing me to a bird.”

“You could always shut me up by kiss—”

He did of course, and we had more fun with that since we were grinning at the same time, and ended up laughing and kissing, which as everybody knows makes you do more of both. I don’t know how long we stood there on the beach, but I was about ready to drag Archer back to my cottage when he sighed and pulled back.

“I have to go,” he told me. “My leave ends in . . . less than thirty minutes.”

“What?” I stared at him as Archer ran his hands up and down my upper arms to try and soothe me. “Are you kidding me?”

“No,” he grumbled, “believe me right now I’d sell my _soul_ not to have to go but as captain, my time’s up at twenty-four hundred. You and the rest of the crew aren’t due in until tomorrow at seventeen hundred when the second shift goes down.”

I whimpered. “Shit . . . this isn’t . . . fair.”

“Yeah, I know,” Archer sighed, pulling me back into his arms. “Damn it, it took me forever to work up the courage, and now . . .”

“Now we have to go back to a ship with a serious design flaw,” I grumbled. 

“What are you talking about?” he wanted to know. 

I took his face in my hands, forcing him to focus on my face as I whispered, “Unlike Risa, the Enterprise has no. full-size. beds, Jon.”

That’s when I heard him curse, and even as I laughed I began tugging him up the beach. “Come on; your dog and ship are waiting.”

“Franny—” He stopped so suddenly that I swung back against him and he caught me. “It . . . I wasn’t going to . . . _tonight_ , you know. I don’t . . . move that fast.”

I blushed a little. “I don’t usually either, but those _kisses_ . . . “

Which was the right thing to say since he gave me several more of them as I helped him pack. 

*** *** *** 

I wasn’t kidding about the design flaw. I know the Enterprise was supposed to be a scientific exploration vessel and that it’s focus is on mission over comfort, but when you have a lot of young, healthy people cooped up together for long periods of time, they tend to mingle and that mingling sometimes means physical intimacy. I suppose Starfleet figured that by keeping the beds as singles it would cut down on temptation, but that wasn’t really the case. All it meant was that folks got both creative and daring. Maalik had already caught a couple making out in our walk-in pantry and I’d found a pair of panties in the hydroponic garden.

Still, I was busy enough taking over for my sous as he went down for his R&R and part of that time was the thank you vid from Vonok. He’d sent up a few local recipes and recommendations for a few other places which was really kind of him. I also got a nice vid from the Tourist Commission with no mention of a pass, ha. 

I’d also gotten some comments from the crew about my ‘moonlighting on Risa’ which made me panic, thinking I’d been spotted kissing the captain. They were talking about my little stint at the Luminous though, and most people thought it was funny.

“Don’t we keep you busy enough _here_?” Travis asked, taking a plate of gnocchi and pesto from my hands. 

“Hey, I like to do leave in my own special way,” I told him, and he laughed at that.

“Whatever rattles your pans, Chef. Just as long as you come back, okay? I am NEVER going back to pouch rations if I can help it.”

T’Pol was not amused. “The outcome could have gone quite differently,” she murmured as I served her a stew of braised celery, leeks and artichokes, “Had the chef taken serious offence at your gesture.”

“Then I would have had to deal with him accordingly,” I told her. “First with facts and then with tongs.”

“I fail to see how tongs would be effective in subduing an offended chef,” she told me, perplexed.

“If applied with enough force at certain points of anatomy . . . particularly _male_ anatomy, I find them useful for stopping most immediate arguments.”

She stared at me and I stared back, holding her gaze long enough to see a tiny hint of approval before she took her plate to her table. 

Doctor Phlox seemed to think I’d done the right thing. “The violation of health codes on a popular place like Risa . . . disaster in the making,” he shook his head. “I’m sure there will be an overhaul of their inspection system and far more oversight in their kitchens and bars.”

“Undoubtedly, although I didn’t mean to shake the place up quite that much,” I fretted. 

“Better your dramatics than Chief Engineer Tucker being rushed to the local med center,” Phlox pointed out. “You’ve given their complacency a bit of a shaking and that’s a good thing, ultimately. Think of it in terms of that human idiot, ‘tough love.”

“I think you mean idiom but yeah,” I grinned. “At least the Luminous Lounge has a chance to regain their former glory.”

 

I was nervous about bringing Archer his dinner that night of course. We hadn’t really talked about, well, what our relationship/situation was, really, and it wasn’t as if we could drop in on each other either. Knowing the man he was probably mapping out the next mission, or working out, or doing a thousand other ship-related things to the Enterprise while I had prep, menus, and meals to consider. Don’t get me wrong; I loved the work, but that’s what it was and just because it was in space didn’t change that. Getting food down for 80+ people three times a day still met the definition, even with fancy gadgets and Maalik by my side.

But as the evening rolled around, I got a call, telling me to cancel dinner. 

“I’m up to my elbows in a coolant leak with Trip,” Archer told me. “One elbow anyway, and it looks like I may be here for a few hours. I don’t want you to go to all the trouble of fixing something when I may not get to it anytime soon, Chef.”

“Got it,” I responded. It had happened before once or twice; he’d be called away, or have something he had to deal with up on the bridge, so this wasn’t new or even surprising, but I was aware of a pang of disappointment in my chest. “I can have sandwiches for you though. Just let me know when.”

“Thank you,” came his rumble, and in a slightly lower tone, “looking forward to your best bologna and cheese.”

I gave a little indignant squeak that Archer heard because he laughed. “Archer out.”

Bologna and cheese! I headed for the walk-in freezer, determined to show one smart-alecky captain exactly what a picnic Ala Franny was like.


	8. Chapter 8

It was nearly midnight—or 24 hundred hours in ship time—when I got the call from a tired captain that if the offer of sandwiches was still open, he’d take them.

I went with my instinct and carried the platter to Archer’s quarters instead of the Captain’s Mess and when I tapped his door panel to let him know I was there, he let me in.

“Wow, personal delivery! I was cleaning up to head out, but this works too,” he grinned at me, half-dressed, towel around his neck.

I couldn’t answer right away, hyperventilating as I was at the sight of his furry chest. _Mio Dio_ , talk about muscles! The baggy jumpsuits had been hiding a treasure, that’s for sure. I gave him the once over enjoying his blush as he reached for an undershirt.

“Don’t bother on _my_ account,” I teased, busying myself with the tray.

Archer snorted but came close leaning over my shoulder to see what I was doing, and the brush of him against my spine felt sexy. “Riiiight. So what did you make?”

“A pair of _croque monsieurs_ with Gruyère and Béchamel, a selection of pickles and sliced pears and almonds,” I told him with mock-haughtiness. “You wanted bologna and cheese; I put it into a tuxedo.”

He laughed. “Okay I deserved that. I didn’t want you to go to a lot of trouble, though.”

“No trouble, at least not for me,” I assured him. “So . . . .” I looked around, trying to figure out where to sit. His cabin was larger than mine but not by much and of course the bed was the biggest piece of furniture in the room. Porthos was already weaving between my legs and Archers, ready for any stray crumbs.

Archer simply sighed and took one of the sandwiches, moving to lounge at the head of the bed. “Come and keep me company while I get these down.”

I moved to sit cross legged at the foot of the bed and took one of the pickles for myself. “So did you get the leak fixed?”

Archer made an affirmative sound around a mouthful of food, swallowing before adding, “It’s the second time and Trip’s frustrated with the system. We _think_ it’s the valve seals but we can’t be sure without full diagnostics and those would require we either go to dry dock or take apart one small system and check for ourselves. Right now it’s not serious but if we have a major breech the cascade effect will be a disaster and whatever coolant we lose will be contaminated.”

“Yuck,” I observed. “Is there I dunno—spare coolant somewhere?”

“Not onboard. We’d need to rendezvous with another Starfleet ship or make a stop at a post to pick it up, but I’d rather get it than take a risk of not having it.” Archer sighed. “I’m waiting for suggestions from Starfleet and we’ll shift course accordingly.”

“Ah.” I glanced at Porthos, who was dying to get up with us but too well-trained to do it without an invitation. Archer saw me and shook his head.

“He’s better off on his own cushion.” To the dog he murmured, “Bed,” and sadly Porthos headed to his little pillow, settling on it with a dramatic doggy sigh.

I laughed. “I feel like I should applaud that scene.”

“It’s the ham in him and the ham that’s _not_ in him,” Archer told me with a grin. “These are great, by the way.”

“Good,” I murmured. One of the things I was grateful for was that Archer was not fussy about food and took whatever I served up with light pleasure, generally finishing all of it. Not much is more gratifying than knowing what you’ve made is appreciated, and I relished knowing he was well-fed.

“So . . .” I began self-consciously once he was done, aware that I should probably collect the tray and let the man get some sleep. 

Archer gave me a crooked grin. “So you’re feeling awkward too, huh?”

“It’s ridiculous,” I laughed, “but yes, a little. I don’t want to be an issue for you as captain of this ship, but at the same time . . .” I looked at him shyly, “I really, really like you.”

“Come here,” he murmured, and stretched out on his side. I slid up along the mattress, feeling a shiver in my stomach as I did so. The fit was snug but not impossible, and I rested my head on his arm.

“Everybody on a ship has two personas,” Archer murmured. “The one they use doing the job, and the one for the other parts of their life. With me so far?”

“You DO remember my mother’s a psychologist, right?” I snickered. “Yes, I get it.”

“Right,” Archer replied. “So my point here is that whatever else happens between us, outside these walls you are and will always be Chef. That’s out of respect and courtesy, okay?”

“Mmm,” I agreed. He smelled nice and I was enjoying the closeness very much. “And outside these walls you’ll always be Captain Archer. Got it.”

“But inside,” he pulled me closer, doing that soft nuzzle to my hair again. “When it’s simply you and me . . . that’s different. Franny, I’m not good at this, but you make me want to try.”

“Try . . . ?” I was going to make him say it, just so it got said.

“ _Try_ to have a meaningful, serious, supportive relationship,” Archer sighed. “Something more than I’ve managed in a really long time.”

I took that in and let my free hand rest against his chest, where I could feel the muscle under the thin shirt. “All that sounds noble,” I told Archer in a serious voice. “But what about the mind-melting sex?”

He snorted, and with a quick tug I was now sprawled on top of him like a blanket. “Well there’s that too.”

“Oh good; I was starting to think you were having second thoughts.”

“No,” his hands were on my back now, moving up and down my spine and under me I felt a throb of interest that let me know Archer meant what he said. “Not a chance of _that_.”

“So you’d like a . . . you and me relationship,” I clarified, shifting so that I was straddling him, making an effort not to damage his . . . enthusiasm. “Something sincere and discreet.”

Archer gave a little groan, hands on my hips now. “Yeah, that’s pretty much the, mmm, best case scenario.” 

I leaned over and brushed my mouth against his, feeling impish and horny. “Empathetic and erotic? Sincere and sensual?”

“ _Killing_ me here,” he rasped, grinning against my lips. “Compassionate and carnal.”

“Lighthearted but lustful?” I was grinding a little now and feeling a rush of pleasure through my body.

“Franny,” Archer groaned, “It’s all up to _you_ , okay? Right now I’m _not_ in a rational frame of mind, and if you keep doing what you’re do--”

I kissed him. Truth to tell I was pretty wound up myself; the pheromones and body contact were working on me as well and I took advantage of that. Talk could wait; touch was more important.

So I found out a few things once we’d lost half our clothes. One of them was that single bunks are only a challenge if you let them be when making out. The other is that Jonathan Archer is composed of acreages. I mean there’s so _much_ of him—shoulders in two different time zones, miles of muscles and a whole lotta libido in action. I have never been so thoroughly kissed and touched. Not that I was slouching in return, but the constant threat of falling off the bed and potentially flattening Porthos kind of held me in check.

Poor dog; I was sure we were traumatizing him with all the slurping and groaning but I was also too busy to worry about it much. I was more concerned about exactly when I’d had my last dose of Null and whether it would still be effective—when you’re not in a current relationship, things like birth control tend not to be foremost on your mind. And when I brought dinner I wasn’t actually expecting to need it _this_ moment.

Archer must have sensed my tension because he stopped nipping my bare shoulder and made me look at him. “Franny?”

“I shouldn’t,” I told him with a pout. “Not because I don’t _want_ to, but I’m not sure about my last dose of Null.”

“Ohh,” he murmured, propping himself up on an elbow. “Yeah, that’s kind of important.”

“I’m sorry; I—” I started, but he shook his head, looking all kinds of adorable bare-chested and frazzled.

“Nope, _I’m_ the one who should apologize,” he rumbled, “For not asking earlier. Look, we _can_ stop, you know. Slow down and just cool it a bit.”

I took a breath, trying to be calm but my body was not pleased about the idea. Seeing my struggle, Archer chuckled and pulled me into his arms. “It doesn’t have to be up to you, either,” he murmured. “I can ask Phlox for a Null injection for myself. By tomorrow we could be safe.” 

“I know, but tomorrow is tomorrow and we’re here right _now_ , all warm and touching,” I grumped even as I ran my hands over his chest. “Stopping the meal between the soup and the entrée is no fun.” 

It was hard not to sound cranky but Archer seemed to understand, and gave a chuckle. “Well there _are_ some alternatives.” 

The other thing I learned? Captain Eagle Scout was not nearly as straight-laced as he appeared, oh no. The kissing was the start of it, but when those big hands of his began to slide into my slacks I found myself reciprocating. Not with the finesse Archer had, but it must have felt good for him too because things heated up pretty fast after that. I was torn between trying to focus on caressing him—and there was a LOT of him-- and dealing with the waves of pleasure building between my thighs. 

And the kissing! Slow, wet wonderfully filthy kisses. Gah! 

I don’t know where this man learned how to be so gentle and steady with his fingers but by Escoffier and all his ovens after a few achingly intense moments I orgasmed so hard I was shuddering, my teeth leaving marks on Archer’s shoulder as I tried to muffle my cries. 

And then it was his turn, but I was already so lost in the heated bliss of my own response that all I dimly remember is feeling the hot pulses splashing all the way up my forearm and Archer growling of my name. 

Embarrassing truth? After a really good orgasm . . . I fall asleep. Like, instantly, or pretty damned close—just blissed. So I was out of it for a while, feeling like melted honey, and when I finally managed to open my eyes, I chuckled. 

Somebody _else_ was out of it too, slumped over me like a blanket of damp muscle and ripe with testosterone. I watched Archer sleep for a few minutes, feeling pangs in my chest even as I felt sticky places grow cooler and more . . . sticky. It has been such a long damned time since I’d been so sweetly debauched, and when I reached to stroke his forehead, he sleepily opened his eyes, looking smug. 

Well . . . he had a right to, actually. 

“Frrrran-ches-ca,” Archer murmured in a long, sweet drawl, and I felt him snuggle closer. “I have some bad news.” 

“Oh?” Now I was worried, but he grinned at me. 

“I don’t think we’re both going to fit in the shower at the same time, but . . .” he rumbled, “I’m willing to try.” 

I giggled. 


	9. Chapter 9

The other nice thing about a good orgasm is that it puts me in a great mood. I slept soundly, woke up in plenty of time to help Maalik with the breakfast shift and got to work on the week’s prep, feeling marvelous. I’m a pretty basic creature I guess, and my body was letting me know how happy it was at the moment.

Naturally I was already planning/plotting how to get together again with Archer, and this required thought because as I’ve mentioned, the Enterprise wasn’t exactly designed for cozy tête-à-têtes no matter what deck you were on. More than that, it was built for science, not luxury, so nearly every space was utilitarian and functional. However, where there’s a will there’s definitely a way and I would find it. Or _them_ since backups are always a nice idea.

From the talk I overhead in the mess hall we were coming to a class M planet to check on a race called the Shabotax, and that this would be a goodwill visit since they’d already had first contact with other interstellar visitors. Some of the xenobiologists and xenobotanists were really excited at the chance for real fieldwork while some of the engineers were talking about finally the opportunity to do that localized coolant check that Archer had mentioned to me. 

I also heard that two of the navigation team had won big at Hoshi’s poker game, and that Reed was hoping to field test some antique weapon he’d bought on Risa during leave. Maalik was amused at this last bit of gossip, shaking his head as he loaded the utensil sterilizer with the last of the breakfast dishes.

“Weapons have their place to be sure, but Malcolm Reed is overly obsessed with them,” he sighed. “Do you know he once came through the galley trying to figure out how many knives we have, and if they were securely stored?”

“What, does he think anyone’s going to attack us in _here_?” I grumbled back, discomfited. Reed and I had already gotten off to a rocky start and this second incursion into my workspace had me annoyed.

Maalik chuckled. “I think he’s far more afraid that _you and I_ would do the attacking. Mind you, I’m sure we could hold off any intruders; between us we’ve got enough experience with the tools of our trade.”

“Mezzalunas, mandolins, skewers, meat tenderizers,” I nodded.

“Immersion blenders, crab picks, even the baking stone if I swung it hard enough. And we haven’t even gotten to the pans and rolling pins!” he agreed. “Woe to the enemy heading in here!”

“We’re our own team,” I assured him as I packed away the leftover muffins. “Our own brigade.”

“We should have patches,” Maalik enthused. “Tongs and toques. Think Starfleet would consider it?”

“Given that we’re sort of establishing the billet, they might.”

Our happy musings were interrupted though, when I got a call from Doctor Phlox asking me to come to Sick Bay, and I did, with trepidation, wondering if it was related to a certain person or not.

“Ah, thank you for responding so quickly,” Phlox told me when I came in. “I wanted to talk to you about nutrients.”

“I firmly believe in them,” I replied. “Very big in my line of work.”

“True, which is why I want to ask if you have any rootleaf scraps or any cruciferous leavings so I can supplement the diets of a few creatures here,” Phlox smiled, resting a hand on a large glass terrarium that held what looked like a latex gloves filled with water. “The Edosian Slugs benefit greatly from an occasional serving of boiled vegetables—”

Then Archer strolled in, “Doctor, if I could have a private word . . . oh,” he spotted me and the flash of confusion on his face mingled with a quick sweet glance of desire before he caught himself. “I didn’t realize you . . . had a patient. Chef,” that last was to me in a bit more formal a tone than I was used to.

I nodded to him.

“Chef is not a patient; she’s a potential source at the moment,” Phlox corrected good-naturedly. “How can I help you, Captain?”

I hid my grin, well-aware what Archer’s errand was, so before he could say a word I began to back out of Sick Bay, giving the doctor a casual wave. “Yes, I think I do have some scraps . . . I’ll gather up what I have and be back . . . in a while. Probably about an hour.”

I slipped out trying not to laugh and hoping Phlox didn’t make the connection between my less than graceful exit, and what Archer was about to ask him. But he was a keen observer of the crew, and if anyone was going to figure it out, he would. In the meantime I needed to work on my poker face and see if the compost bag had been filled.

*** *** ***

Dinner was poached turbot with braised fennel and rice; I brought it in feeling a little nervous, but the sight of Archer at his table cheered me, especially when he smiled. 

“I know fish isn’t your favorite, but it’s full of nutrients,” I murmured, setting it down in front of him. “You probably need some at this point.”

“Yes,” he agreed, smirking. “I do at that. Do you have a moment to sit?” Archer asked, as aware of the open door as I was.

“A moment,” I agreed, slipping into one of the chairs. “So . . . how was your day?”

“Busy,” Archer admitted. “But I did find time to drop into Sick Bay . . . as you know.”

“And?” I asked. Under the table he reached for my hand and squeezed it.

“And not only do I have an active prescription for Null, but I’ve also endured the mandatory lectures on safe sex practices and the necessity for discretion,” Archer muttered dryly. “Along with, God help me, Phlox’s congratulations. He’s a terrific doctor but sometimes his interest in human sexuality is a little disconcerting.”

I laughed. “He cares, and he’s supportive; can’t ask for much more than that, I guess.”

“True,” Archer let go of my hand to cut the turbot into pieces. “Although the effectiveness won’t kick in until oh four hundred hours, damn it.”

“Ah,” I empathized. “Well they say anticipation makes consummation all the sweeter.”

“ _They_ are full of . . .” he grumbled, giving me a twisted smile, “things best not mentioned while I’m eating. Tomorrow I go down to meet with the Shabotax, who’ve invited us to a hunt.” Archer made a face.

“Hunting not your style?”

“Not generally, no. I went a few times as a kid with my dad and uncle—duck hunting—and all I got was bored.”

“Porthos might like it,” I offered, just to make Archer snicker.

“He’d like it too _much_ ; I might never get him off the planet. No, I think T’Pol, Hoshi, Reed and I will probably just observe . . . as politely as we can. They’re probably going to host a dinner as well, so . . . I may be gone a while.”

He looked remorseful and I just shook my head as I rose. “Well look at the bright side; by the time I see you again, the Null will be working, right?”

Archer’s sweetly smutty look followed me out and I as I was trying not to grin, I spotted Doctor Phlox across the Mess Hall, watching me.

I wasn’t sure whether to be amused or annoyed, so I made it a point to circle the room and check in with the dinner crowd, most of whom were pleased with the fennel for some reason. When I reached the doctor, he was smiling.

“Thank you for the vegetable scraps; the slugs are delighted,” he assured me.

“Good. And the turbot?”

“Excellent,” Phlox responded, and he glanced towards the Mess before speaking again. “It’s a good choice, particularly for the Captain; he’s going to need more minerals and vitamins, for stamina.”

“Really?” I responded in my best neutral voice, but it didn’t seem to faze the doctor at all.

“Indeed.” He said nothing more, but the twinkle in his eye didn’t fool me and I blushed again, hoping it didn’t show too much. I headed back to the galley and wondered if I was going to need a dose of saltpeter before long.

*** *** *** 

“Uh, Chef?”

I paused, staring at the ‘com. It was afternoon, and Archer was supposed to be down on the planet with the Shabotax, making nice and talking up Starfleet, not contacting me and sounding stressed about it. I was working on pastry and covered in flour so I wasn’t thrilled with the interruption myself.

“Yes, Captain? What’s . . . up?” I asked, not sure if the connection was private or not. Better to assume not and keep to the formalities.

“Chef, yeah, listen, can you shuttle down to the planet in the next fifteen minutes or so? And bring . . . some knives with you? Big ones?”

Oh God this didn’t sound good. I thought about asking more but the strain in his voice told me I was wasting time.

“Yes,” I replied, trying to sound confident. “Let me alert my sous and I’ll be at the shuttle bay in twelve minutes.”

And I went into hyper-drive. Called Maalik, asked him to take over the pastry work, packed up a tote of knives, cleavers and a bone saw because reading between the lines I was guessing . . . 

Archer wanted me to help field dress something.

Shit. I’d done some basic butchering; it was required at the Culinary Institute, but it wasn’t anything I enjoyed per se, and those were carcasses that were already skinned and refrigerated. Whatever was down on the planet would be fresh, hot, and full of guts. 

I made it to the shuttle and we took off, me trying to hold back my panic as I mentally went over the basics in my head about what to do. Halfway there it dawned on me I had no idea what the animal was, which had me chewing my lip. By the time we landed, I was trying to keep my cool and not succeeding much.

It was frosty, which surprised me. I guess I’d gotten used to the ship’s regulated temperature, but when I stepped out, I shivered a little, even in my chef’s jacket. The ground was hilly, but like a prairie, and off in the distance I saw some trees, but I was more interested in the people coming towards me, Archer in the lead.

He had on a jacket and I noticed his ears and nose were red. Also, that he looked just as stressed as he’d sounded on the ‘com. Moving close, he muttered, “Thanks for coming down. So . . . how good are you at cuts of meat?”

“As in making them or identifying them?”

“The Shabotax have decided to honor us but allowing us the first cuts from the kill,” Archer sighed. “And since nobody here knows as much about meat as you do . . .” he lowered his voice. “Franny, it’s touch and go here; the society is very gung-ho on their self-sufficiency and tradition. We’ve been working hard not to offend them and this is just one more test on their part. I know it’s short notice but . . . can you _do_ it?”

“Hey,” I growled, keeping my voice low, “I’ll do my best, but I need to see what it IS that I have to deal with first.”

Reed broke in, waving off to the side. “That.”

I turned to look and drew a sharp breath, feeling a rush of panic at the sight of the gigantic carcass a little uphill from us. There were people already working on it, neatly dragging out the viscera, which steamed in the cold air, and when I looked down, trickles of blood were streaming past our feet, staining the frosted ground.

“ _Cazzo! Che palle_!” I blurted, making Hoshi snort. “They shot an elephant?”

“It’s a variant of elk, specifically _Megaloceros giganteus_ ,” T’Pol added, looking disgusted. “If you are going to assist the Shabotax I suggest you do so quickly, since the longer this takes, the more likely the carcass will draw predators.”

Two people in long tunics were coming towards us, and I sized them up as they did: a round jolly looking man and a tall muscled guy. They both had the same bemused expression and when I looked at the taller man I saw an extra smirk on his face that pissed me off.

He didn’t think we could handle it; that much was clear without a word being said. He strode up with a kind of arrogance, waiting for the jolly man, and when he eyed me, I held his gaze.

Yeah I didn’t like him, and out of the corner of my eye I could see by body language that neither did anyone else from the Enterprise.

“Is this your _Panthe_?” the tall man asked, a hint of a sneer in his voice. 

“Yes,” Archer replied. “Chef, this is Sha-dar, and his father, Sha-dran. They brought down the Cho’olk up there.”

“It took skill,” Sha-dar bragged, still holding my gaze. “Skills you star-travelers have forgotten.”

I reached my bag, “We haven’t forgotten _everything_.”

By luck I managed to pull out my Blut Meister 500, which is halfway between a kitchen knife and a katana. It gleamed in the light, and I hefted it without bothering to look, catching the handle precisely.

Sha-dar leaned away, and I saw Reed smirk; clearly _he_ remembered my skills.

“We’re honored by your generosity,” I added. “Please, lead the way.”

All of us went up the hill and the closer we got, the bigger the carcass seemed. Frantically I tried to remember the basic cuts, but all my practice had been done on a carcass hanging on a hook, not lying on its side. The coppery stink of blood and meat hung in the chilly air; I could see why T’Pol looked especially pale. Two women were pouring buckets of water on the ground to wash the blood; one of them nodded at my knife.

“Well met,” the woman grunted. “Are you ready to take your portion, _Panthe_?”

I held up a hand and turned; Archer and the rest were staring at me so I waved them closer.

“All right,” I started to undo my coat. “I’m going to take roasts and a few steaks if I can; those can feed most of the crew. Do we have something to put the meat in?”

“There are coolers in the shuttle,” Reed pointed out and went to get them. I handed Hoshi my coat and climbed out of my slacks.

“Whoa! What the hell are you _doing_?” Archer hissed, looking scandalized.

“She is preparing to enter the carcass,” T’Pol pointed out. “The internal cavity holds sufficient heat to keep Chef from the chill and clothing would impede her.”

“Exactly,” I muttered. “No point in getting extra bloody in the process.”

Impishly, I have Archer my pants and took a breath; nothing like standing in the frosty air in your regulation underwear. I picked up my Blut Meister and the bone saw, then walked over to the carcass, grateful that the topmost legs had been pulled back by ropes to widen the internal curve of the beast’s body. Archer was close beside me.

“This is insane!” he hissed. “Franny, listen you _don’t_ have to do this!”

“Sure I do,” I told him in a low voice. “Goodwill with an alien race and free food. Everybody’s a winner.”

I braced a boot on the inside thigh of the Cho’olk, and climbed up.


	10. Chapter 10

It was a meat cave, and in the dim light I took a moment to orient myself. One of the women I’d seen before came up behind me and spoke. “I am Sha-lan and this is my child, Sha-loa. I see you have brought your own blades.” Her tone was approving. 

“Hi. I’m Fran. Yes, I brought my best,” I nodded. “So has anyone begun to carve?”

She shook her head. From what I could see, Sha-lan was about thirty years older than me, and from the look of her muscles, she’d been working hard most of her life. She pointed up with a hooked stone blade, to the wet red curve above us where the ribs were visible under a thin layer of meat. “Usually we go between the bones here to open it, and work from either end. With smaller animals it’s easier to go from the outside, but with a Cho’olk, inside is quicker.”

I nodded. “How many people are you feeding?” I asked her.

“Fifty, but we will save and cure enough for two more meals,” Sha-lan replied, “not counting the feast tonight.”

“Okay. I want pieces from _here_ \--” I jabbed my knife towards the inside of the hind leg. “At least three big roasts, and some of the long flank as well, in a sheet if possible.”

Sha-lan nodded. “What else?”

I shook my head. “That’s it; _more_ than enough for us, but I would be happy to help cut for _your_ people as well.”

She smiled at that. “Yes, we would be grateful for that, Fran. Now we work.”

And we did, too. I sliced and cut as best I could, but working overhead wasn’t easy. Sha-lan and her daughter were faster, but I took my time so I wouldn’t ruin anything by rushing. It was messy of course; I had blood dripping all over me, and the smell was strong but I was interested in how the Shabotax did their work, and asked a lot of questions as well about what they did to preserve the meat.

They salted most of course, and Sha-lan spoke of an oil and honey soak for other cuts that they would seal in a sort of wax that hardened to a stone consistency. When they wanted the meat they’d break the stone open. All of it sounded fascinating.

After a few hours, more women came and Sha-lan insisted we stop and let them continue the dismembering. I climbed out stiffly, feeling rank with the blood odor but pretty pleased too at the work I’d done. Old professor L’Arnax would be pleased that I’d remembered so much from his lectures. As we reached the ground I blinked, not used to the light.

Archer was there, waiting, and the look he gave me was priceless: half awe, half fear as I wiped down the blades. He came over to me, braving the stench and spoke in an urgent whisper. “Are you all right, Franny?”

“A little achy,” I admitted. “By the way, if anything qualifies as earning hazard pay, this is _it_ , Captain.”

He laughed and nodded. “Noted. You look . . .”

“Like a mass murderess, yeah,” I finished for him, wincing. “But we’ve got enough roasts for several meals including the chief engineer’s planned seven course dinner. _Dio_ , I want a bath.”

“Fran!” Sha-lan called, waving me over. I headed her way, aware of my blood-spattered semi-nudity, of Reed and Hoshi looking horrified. I turned and grinned at them before reaching our hostess. 

“We will wash at the firefalls,” She told me, pointing down a path. “Before the blood fully congeals.” 

Torn, I looked back at the shuttle craft, knowing the trip back to the ship would be freezing cold and made the decision. “Okay. Let me get my clothes.” 

Archer insisted on bringing my chef’s jacket and slacks himself, trailing behind me but Sha-lan shook her head. “No men,” she told him sternly. “Not at the falls. Give those to one of the other girls and she will bring it to us.” 

I shrugged and followed Sha-lan down the path, where after a few twisting turns it led to a tiny pool that steamed. I stared, realizing there was indeed a waterfall and that it was cascading from a thermal spring, creating a natural hot shower, and that Sha-loa was already there, cleaning up. 

“Firefall,” Sha-lan nodded. “We always try to end the hunt close to one so that we can clean up. Here,” she handed me a little pot of ointment that smelled strongly of mint. “It cleans.” 

So I showered in the open, thrilled to get the blood off me. By this point I felt a _true_ bond with Sha-lan and Sha-loa, who laughed and sang as we all washed up, helping me get the last of the blood out of my hair before braiding it for me and tying it with a little thong. 

“You did well,” Sha-lan told me. “A little slow, but after a few hunts you’ll be as quick as any Shabotax. Tell me, why did you choose the round muscle when you could have had pieces far more tender?” 

“We have ways of preserving the round and using it in smaller amounts,” I told her. “Tender cuts don’t freeze well; they should be eaten first, and quickly.” 

She nodded. “You, Fran of the Starfleet--you _understand meat.”_

It was the nicest compliment I’d gotten in a long time, and I was smiling as I headed back up the hill, dressed and clean. 

Archer looked as if he wanted to hug me but of course he couldn’t. I smiled at him and stood close enough to whisper. “You _know_ I’m not wearing any underwear now, right?” 

“Thanks for that added bit of torture,” he hissed back, but with a grin. “So . . . you’re invited to the feast with us of course.” 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the planet,” I told him. 

*** *** *** 

Great feast. Ribs mostly, rubbed with a salt and pungent herb compound that put a spicy sweetness over the wild game taste. I did my best to set the gracious example, chowing down with enthusiasm while Archer and Hoshi ate, Reed picked, and T’Pol settled for what looked like a bowl of porridge. 

Sha-dar kept looking at me throughout the meal and I thought he was going to challenge me to a duel, or say something further about lost skills, but when the feast was over he came over, prodded a bit by Sha-dran and stood tall. 

“You DO have skills,” he muttered reluctantly. “And the _Panthe_ here now call you sister.” 

“Thank you,” I replied. I was feeling sleepy and very full now, more than ready to shuttle back and sleep for hours, but Sha-dar continued. 

“I give to you a gift from the Shabotax to show you are always welcome to return.” Slowly he held out a braided black cord with something long and pale dangling on it: an elk’s tooth, I surmised. 

I slipped the necklace on and smiled at him. “Thank you. I’m very honored and grateful.” 

Sha-dar gave a nod and a grunt, turning away, duty done. Behind him, I saw Sha-lan and Sha-loa smiling at me and that was worth everything. 

We all said our goodbyes and climbed into the one shuttlecraft since the other had taken all the meat back much earlier. Reed flew it, and I sat next to Archer, slowly dozing off as they all talked in low tired voices. I know I fell asleep because the next thing I knew Archer was helping me out of my seat and insisting on walking me to my cabin. 

“Come on, Franny,” he urged quietly. “Beddy bye.” 

Ever been tucked in by a starship captain? It was probably adorable but I was too sleepy to enjoy it properly. I changed into my nightgown and toddled over, letting Archer help me into my bunk. He leaned over me and said I’d done a great job. 

“You went above and beyond the call of duty today and I’m grateful,” he told me before kissing me, gently, and slipping out to let me slide back into Lala-land. 

Of course the next morning I was in agony. I woke up full of aches, and any use of my arms had me wincing. I slowly got up, stretched a little and took forever getting dressed before I shuffled my way to Sick Bay, where Phlox shot me a concerned look. 

“I may have overdone it,” I confessed. He made me sit, and produced some sort of hypo spray, pressing it to my shoulder. 

“Analgesic and muscle relaxant,” he told me. “Yes, I heard about your day of rendering with the Shabotax. I wish I could have seen the process myself, particularly the carcass. Lieutenant Reed was rather impressed with it.” 

“It was bigger than a shuttlecraft,” I sighed. “And gamey. Still, we were gifted with meat and that’s a bonus.” 

“I’d like to inspect those cuts as soon as possible,” Phlox told me. “For safety’s sake.” 

“Of course. Thank you for the relief,” I replied, rising and flexing my shoulders. They were still sore but I’d live. 

Maalik was bubbly when I came into the galley, thrilled by the deliveries and full of ideas for serving them up. “We can save a few of the roasts for the holidays of course, but I was thinking of beef wellington for tomorrow night, and spiced kebabs . . .” 

“All good,” I agreed, rolling out biscuits. “Where is it stored?” 

“Locker two,” Maalik told me. “I took the liberty of flash freezing most of it.” 

“Phlox wants to check it over so be prepared,” I carefully cut the biscuits and lined them on a baking sheet, mentally working out how many I could get from this batch. That’s an intrinsic part of cooking; working out portions within a certain parameter. Some things I knew I’d need more of, because the crew especially liked them. 

We served up breakfast and chatted as people came to pick up their food. When Trip showed up, grinning, I suspected what he was going to say. 

“Soooooo, about that seven course meal you owe me,” he began and I rolled my eyes. 

“Way ahead of you,” I sighed. “When were you thinking of having it?” 

“Friday—” 

I shook my head. “That’s movie night. Saturday?” 

He nodded. “Saturday’s fine. What can I say’s on the menu?” 

“Delmonico steak,” I told him. “Fair enough?” 

Trip gave me his trademark smirk, nodding. “More than fair. Tell you what; I’ll build that chute myself before Saturday just to show I’m a magnanimous winner. Work on it after hours so I won’t be in the way, all right?” 

I beamed back at him. “Yes! Thank you!” 

He shrugged and sauntered off while I shared the good news with Maalik, who was as thrilled as I was—every step saved in a kitchen was worth it. 

When I brought Archer dinner that night, he watched me with a look that had me tingling. Dinner was a simplified chicken Marengo so I could use up the extra tomatoes, but I gave it the same flourish I did for each meal. “So,” he began as I set the dish down. “Going to movie night?” 

Something in his tone made me fight a smile. “Depends. What’s playing?” 

“The Magnificent Seven,” Archer replied. “It’s a western, I think.” 

“Are you going?” 

He shook his head with deliberation. “No. I . . . think I’ll be in my cabin.” 

I met his gaze. “Alone?” 

“I _hope_ not,” Archer murmured playfully. 

“Hmmm,” I pretended to consider it. “Well I could come by if you don’t mind company.” 

“Please,” he sighed. “Pretty please?” 

There was something enticingly sweet about having the most self-assured man on the entire ship just on the edge of pleading, and I took a moment to savor it, even as I reached down and ran a thumb over Archer’s lower lip. 

“I’ll have you for _dessert_ ,” I replied as throatily as I could, just to see him drop his fork, fumble with his napkin and shoot me a look that could have melted titanium before I strolled out of the Mess, smiling. 


	11. Chapter 11

So I had a day to be nervous and fretful, but I put it to good use by organizing Trip’s dinner. There were ten engineers, including Trip, and having a nice round number was a good start. Maalik volunteered to do the steaks, which was a relief to me since that meant I could work out the rest of the menu.

I settled on two appetizers: shrimp cocktail and dry roasted olives with herbed cream cheese. A rich consommé; a summer salad followed by the steaks; a decorated platter of cut fruit and a chocolate froth parfait with crème de menthe would probably go over well.

So there was prep. Truth of a chef’s life: ninety percent of working in a kitchen is prep. If you can’t handle that, you shouldn’t cook. I tend to go into ‘the zone’ and move through things at a steady pace to get them done. I’m blessed that Maalik is the same, and we can move around each other without getting in each other’s way. I spent most of Friday getting not only the Engineer dinner ready, but also serving up the regular meals as well. However--

I _was_ smart enough to knock off early and take a nap. 

Another thing I’d learned early on in the career. Self-care and planning do a LOT to keep you sane. So I slept for an hour, took a shower, and then fretted about what underthings to choose. I didn’t want to look sleazy, but I didn’t want to look like my Nona either. And yes, if things went well, the underwear was going to end up off of me fairly quick, but still---presentation is half of the, uh, meal, right?

In the end I settled for the only matched set I had. Black lace bra and panties with tiny pale blue roses embroidered on them. I dimly remember buying them at some sale and how they ended up in my wardrobe for space I’ll never know, but they were here now and they fit, so I wore them.

_Dio_ I was nervous. Not because I had doubts about Archer, no; he’d proved he knew his way around a woman’s body (and that thought brought up a pang of jealousy I had to squash hard) but because I wasn’t nearly as sure about my own skills in that department. My entire romantic history fit on one half of one hand, and none of them had been the love of my life. 

My first was Parker, a fellow student at the CIA, who swore undying love until after I’d coached him through the Chocolate and Confectionary Technology and Techniques course. He dropped me like a bad soufflé the minute our grades were posted (I got an A; he managed a C) and even though the physical part had been fun, the heartache hurt. To this day I still get pissed when I see bars of baker’s chocolate.

Then there was Rojelio, the owner of a restaurant I’d worked in. He was charming and funny. Unfortunately he had addictions, which meant everything was constant rollercoaster ride, emotionally. If he was stoned he was passively sweet, but when he dipped into Lunar Wave I never knew if he was going to vandalize buildings or pick fights with anyone in a two foot radius. He nearly broke my nose when I tried to keep him from stealing a car and that ended THAT relationship. 

I’d avoided dating for a few years after that, and then Jacob came along. He was mild-mannered and good-natured, seemed to understand the crazy hours of my job and never asked for too much. Apparently I should have asked for more because when he returned to Canada I was one of the things he left behind, like an inconvenient pet. That one didn’t hurt as much, mostly because I hadn’t put my heart on the line I suppose.

But Archer . . . He was making me _feel_ things. Things I liked, things I’d avoided, things I didn’t understand. And as I mentioned before, he listened to me, which was intoxicating in its own way. He treated me like I was more than just my profession and that was a tricky path heading into the tender places.

Physically I was ready; my body definitely wanted his and I understood that. Emotionally? I wasn’t so sure, but the only way to find out would be to move forward, and that meant spending some precious and vulnerable time together. 

So with that in mind I waited until after Sath got the movie going in the Mess Hall to pick up the little container and casually make my way down the E deck corridors towards Archer’s cabin. Every step made me nervous and for the first time in ages I actually felt my pulse thumping. When I reached his door, I tapped it, and got the shock of my life when it popped open before I’d even pulled my hand back.

“ _Gesú_! Don’t scare me--” I hissed, and didn’t get to finish my rebuke because Archer’s grip encircled my wrist and he tugged me inside, pulling me straight into his arms. I slammed up against him, all strong and warm; it was like being enveloped by an aftershave-scented tiger.

“Hi,” he rumbled, his words muffled against the side of my neck. “Glad you decided to stop by.”

I muffled a giggle against him, wrapping my arms around his torso. Archer was barefoot, in his off-duty sweats and I was glad I’d chosen much the same outfit. “Me too. I brought apricots.”

He pulled back and gave me a questioning look; I held up the plastic box. “See?”

“Is this an Italian thing?” Archer wanted to know, and I shook my head.

“It’s a _me_ thing. I love apricots.”

“Okay,” he smiled and took the box. I looked around for Porthos, but he wasn’t there.

“He’s in Sick Bay,” Archer told me, “Being supervised as he enjoys part of a Cho’olk rib.”

It made me grin to think Archer had brought one back specifically. “You didn’t!”

“Phlox made sure the section was decontaminated and safe,” he murmured. “Once Porthos saw it, the rest of the world faded away.”

“He’d have loved the carcass,” I agreed, moving to sit on the bed, feeling awkward. Archer set the box down on his desk and then turned to me, giving that twisted little smile I was getting familiar with. 

“Franny . . .” he sighed. “Do you have _any_ idea how much I don’t want to screw this up?”

I patted the spot next to me and he dropped onto the mattress, scooting closer. I slid an arm around him. “Yes.” 

“Okay then,” Archer murmured. “Just so you know. I’m not exactly great at this sort of relationship and you’re . . .” he gave a sort of helpless wave of one hand, “So . . . amazing.” 

“I’m not amazing, I’m just as nervous as you are,” I pointed out, fighting the giggles. “And my track record hasn’t been too good either, all right? All I know is things so far have been sweet and hot and I’d like more, please.” 

“Sweet?” Archer turned to look at me, definitely amused now. “The hot I get, oh yeah, but sweet?” 

“Not making fun of me for the blue coriander,” I reminded him. “A luxury spa pass out of your OWN pocket. Sharing a dessert when you really didn’t have to. Hell, stopping everything when I wasn’t sure about Null. All of those were really sweet, Jon.” 

“But those were just . . .” Archer looked confused. 

I put a finger to his lips; he kissed it. “Those were the gestures of a considerate man. They make me feel safe around you, okay?” 

“Okay,” he agreed, still not exactly sure. “But safe is one of those obvious responsibilities of a relationship.” 

Not always,” I countered, moving closer. “At least _you’re_ not going to punch me in the face.” 

It slipped out before I realized it, and Archer stiffened. He pulled away to look at me, his expression very still and very dangerous. “Someone punched you in the face?” 

Under that gaze I flinched a little. “Long time ago; _ancient_ history. He was an addict and I broke up with him immediately after that. I’m not stupid.” 

He muttered a curse and pulled me tightly into his arms, squeezing me. After a few seconds I squeezed back as a strange wave of something made me shudder in his embrace. I fought tears. 

Damn it. I’d never told anyone about it before. Not my parents, not even the kitchen crew I’d worked with at the time. For years I’d blotted out the memory of Rojelio swinging his fists at me, screaming obscenities as I tried to protect myself. I thought I was past it; that I’d dealt with it. 

Maybe not as much as I thought I had. 

After a few soothing minutes of being enveloped in that hug of his, I took a deep breath, I gently pushed Archer and he let me go immediately, backing up to give me room but not so far I couldn’t touch him. 

“Franny,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. Maybe we should . . .” 

“No,” I whispered back, feeling stronger. “I’m good. I really am. It’s just . . . now you know why something like feeling safe is a big deal. To _me_ , anyway. Besides, I put on clean underwear just for you.” 

He still looked a little worried, but when I pulled my tee shirt off and waved at my chest, the grin came back. 

“Voila! Fancy lingerie for the occasion,” I preened, pretending to model the bra. 

“I could die right now and be completely happy,” Archer choked, blinking. “Holy shit.” 

The wholehearted pleasure in his voice bolstered me like nothing else, and my face hurt from smiling. I batted my eyelashes at him and Archer gave a little shiver. “ _Please_ say I can touch you,” he came his hoarse plea. 

“Duh!” I reached for him and just like that we were rolling on the mattress, kissing. Or trying to; between having to shift and reposition ourselves some of the lip action hit other places. For example, I discovered that the captain of the Enterprise had a major erogenous zone just under his jaw line and kisses there made him groan. 

Useful information to know. 

Also, I had previously undiscovered hot spots of my own that included my collarbones, my shoulders and the insides of my elbows. Never before had I ever been kissed inside my elbows but now I was writhing like an octopus as Archer suckled the tender skin there. 

“You _like_ that,” he murmured in a voice thick with self-satisfaction. “I’ll remember that.” 

“It’s torture,” I squeaked, working to get his shirt off so I could accomplish a little revenge myself. And once I did, yeah, I took time to re-acquaint myself with everything furry and wide. 

More kissing of course, but this time it was less lip to lip and more exploratory. Archer certainly wasn’t shy about applying the taste test nearly everywhere. Bit by bit we started losing the rest of our clothes and once we were naked I started to hyperventilate because . . . well because YEAH. 

I whimpered; wanted him, but accommodating THAT was gonna hurt. Yes it would be worth it, but still . . . 

“Franny . . .” 

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just . . . wow.” 

Archer snorted, and slid a hand to cup one of my breasts. “I could say the same of you.” 

“Not in quite . . . the same . . . ahhh . . .” He’d started kissing my stomach, moving in a southerly direction and every press of his mouth sent urgent electric tingles between my hips. By the time Archer was blowing a warm breath over my furry mound I was wriggling again, definitely aroused. 

“I can think of something _I_ love better than apricots,” he murmured in a tone that had my nipples puckering, and gently eased my thighs apart. 

I barely had a chance to catch my breath because once Archer slid that tongue of his around my love button I went off like one of the phase cannons, the intensity of pleasure wracking me from toes to the crown of my head. 

He didn’t freak out, thank God; instead he just kept firm pressure against me and rode it out, which was damn it, perfect. I blissed out of course, as limp as one of my dishrags, and when I managed to rouse myself a few seconds later, I felt Archer licking the insides of my damp thighs. 

“Unnngh, hi,” I managed. “Thank you!” 

“Welcome,” he groaned. I tried to twist, hoping to reciprocate matters, but Archer pushed himself up and rolled; an amazing maneuver given how small the bunk was and how big HE was. 

“But I was--” I began but he shook his head. 

“I wouldn’t last,” Archer admitted, those green eyes full of amusement. “Even though I already took the pressure off before you showed up, Franny.” 

That made me laugh—the idea that the calm and collected captain had a quick wank prior to our assignation made me tug him down onto me. 

_Now_ ,” I growled up at him, moving to wrap my thighs around his hips. 

A little fumbling for alignment and then the push . . . . And in one slick stroke he was in me. 

I shuddered, feeling tender and full. My hips rocked up as his rocked down and just like that we found that sweet rhythm. Blindly I kissed Archer’s face, savoring the flex of his stomach on mine, the tang of my musk in his mouth as he kissed me back. The whole time he gave these deep growls and groans, but a few minutes later when I bit that tender point between Archer’s left shoulder and neck, he came, hard. 

And I felt it, all right, each pulse deep within me as I clung to him, holding him tight until it was over and Archer slumped on me, spent. 

“Shhhh,” I murmured, licking his ear. “It’s good.” 

“Francesca,” Archer sighed, and muzzily kissed the corner of my mouth. “I adore you.” 


	12. Chapter 12

I’m not a small woman. I’m tall—taller than my parents anyway—and I’ve got some muscle on me. Part of it is good genetics of course; I come from strong Ligurian stock in both sides mingled with all the best of southern Europe. The other part is knowing how to take care of myself, from a good diet to making sure this body gets what it needs through exercise and general maintenance.

But Archer made me feel dainty. Delicate almost, which was hilarious to my way of thinking. The man handled me—manhandling, heh!—in ways that made it clear I was both precious and desirable, leading me to appreciate all the muscles he had. He could pick me up without straining and I discovered this when a few hours later he decided we needed to make love for the third time, only against the wall of his cabin.

“You’re crazy!” I spluttered even as he pressed me up against the bulkhead, hands cradling my ass.

“Guilty,” Archer murmured as he kissed my throat. “But I’ve been fantasizing about this for a _while_ . . .”

“Oh well, in _that_ case,” I reached between us, making the helpful adjustments, gasping because the new angle brought some immediate and interesting sensations. From the corresponding groan Archer made it was clear he too was experiencing very good things.

Quick and fierce; I couldn’t hold out long, not with that perfect pressure, and about three minutes later I yowled through my orgasm, clutching his shoulders, which was apparently enough to set him off as well, and we ended up sliding down the wall in a puddle of slick flesh on the carpet. It cracked me up to realize I was sitting on Porthos’ pillow.

“You’re a sex fiend,” I accused with a grin.

“You’re right,” Archer snickered, “but in my defense it’s the result of constantly suppressing all my carnal urges for the last year.”

“Hmm, you should talk to Phlox about that; I’m sure he’d have good advice,” I teased. I glanced at the wall behind us and noted the perfect damp imprint of my ass there. “Nice art.”

Archer laughed. He looked so carefree, leaning back on his hands, un-selfconscious in his nudity, pleased with himself. “I’d give _anything_ to have it stay,” he murmured. “Memento of a glorious moment.”

I shook my head and slowly got to my feet, feeling wobbly and sticky. “Not sure how you’d explain it to visitors.”

He rose up as well and grabbed the towel we’d been using from the back of the chair, handing it to me. “Moot point since the only people who’d see it would be us. Shower?”

“Shower,” I agreed.

It was hard to go. I couldn’t stay; not only did we both need sleep, but I also didn’t want to get caught sneaking out of Archer’s cabin. It wasn’t on a main walkway or anything but the chance of running into anyone was much smaller this late at night.

He insisted on walking me back and that little gesture said so much about him. I resisted the urge to hold Archer’s hand, though, and once we’d reached my quarters, I was glad the little turn in the hallway gave us a bit of last, lingering privacy. I kissed him good night.

“Sleep in,” Archer urged me. “I’ll talk to you soon, sweetheart.”

I turned in after he left, and dropped off into one of the best night’s rest I’d had on this voyage, exhausted but happy.

*** *** *** 

The Engineer’s Banquet was scheduled for nineteen hundred hours and I rounded up Lieutenant Sath to help me move the tables. He pretended to gripe about it, but I’d promised to slip him a plate of everything they were getting and that helped. It was also my luck that Savorn Sath had the natural flare of a headwaiter. He managed to create a gorgeous table centerpiece out of carbon crystals with little silk lilies tucked around it, and designed linen napkins with warp drive equations all over them.

“Eh, I used to help out with my grandmother’s parties,” he told me with a little shrug. “She was big on the fancy touches.”

“Grandmothers are like that,” I agreed. “What do we have to drink?”

“A Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon for the main course, and the crème de menthe for the dessert course,” he replied. “Didn’t know if Trip wanted more than that since they could get called to work at a moment’s notice.” 

“Good thinking,” I replied. “Okay, Maalik’s handling the main course so I’ve got the rest. Thanks for the help.”

He shrugged, smiling. “No problem. Are you okay though? You’re limping a little.”

I tried not to blush and hemmed. “Stubbed my toe. I’m fine.”

I’m not sure if Sath believed me but he gave a nod and I got busy with the appetizers.

Because we were gearing up for the banquet, Maalik and I had gone for a simple Irish stew to serve the rest of the crew, and it was the first meal we were making with a Shabotax roast, along with the veggie option of leek pot pie and potatoes. Archer was having dinner with T’Pol in the Captain’s Mess so I brought in a dish of both and served them up while trying to be nonchalant.

Back when I first came aboard the ship I’d been told there would be a Vulcan observer, so I made sure I had a selection of Vulcan and vegetarian meals ready in my repertoire. She had the typical reticence I’d seen in other Vulcans while working at the embassy so I wasn’t surprised at her brusque mannerisms. I was surprised at how beautiful she was, even though T’Pol never seemed to realize it herself, or how it affected the crew, particularly Chief Tucker, according to ship-wide scuttlebutt.

I knew Archer was still a little wary of her; he freely admitted that although she was smart and was proving her merit, he still had trouble getting over his own bias against Vulcans. This dinner seemed to be a good step forward, and I was glad to see him making the attempt. It took some effort not to stare at him as I brought the food in, and Archer was having just as difficult a time in toning down his smile.

All I could hope was that T’Pol wasn’t as adept at reading human reactions as Phlox was. I presented the dishes, set them down and glided out, working hard on not limping as I did so.

When I came back later to collect the dishes, T’Pol was already gone and Archer was toying with his fork; he looked up as I came in, his gaze soft. “Chef,” he murmured.

“Captain,” I replied, gathering up the plates.

“Sleep well?”

“Oh yes,” I assured him with a grin. “Yourself?”

“Good. Very good,” he amended, rising up. “I had no idea how much I needed . . . rest.”

That made me chuckle, and I shot Archer a fond gaze. “It’s a good look on you. So, not to hurry you along, but I DO have a banquet to serve.”

“Ah,” Archer nodded to himself. “Right. I’ll just get out of the way then . . . but I hope to see you again _soon_ . . . Chef.”

We looked at each other and I felt my face flush a bit before I cleared the table and brought the dishes out. 

\--oo00oo--

The banquet was a success; Trip was delighted with all of it, including the fancy decorations, and his entire team raved about the steaks. Maalik had done a fantastic job with them and I was incredibly proud of him. When the meal was over, Trip called us out and everyone applauded which was an incredibly sweet thing to do and had my sous practically dancing on air.

“An ovation! Never got one of those before!” he preened, grinning like a jack o’ lantern. “This is the good life!”

“Well-deserved,” I agreed. “Go; I can handle the dishes. You take the rest of the night off!”

He argued but I convinced him, shooing him out with mock-sternness. Maalik Singh is one of the best sous I’ve ever worked with and a genuine sweetheart to boot, which made him a treasure as far as I was concerned. I had no idea if he’d stay with Starfleet after this tour, but I suspected he would, and they’d be lucky to have him.

I cleaned up everything, laid out the breakfast necessities and was on my way out when I heard the faint squeak. It didn’t sound familiar, and I stepped back in the kitchen, tilting my head to see if I could catch the sound again even as I wondered what it was. After a few minutes I heard it again; a metallic creaking sound that made me grit my teeth. Moving back into the kitchen, I focused again on listening, and realized it was coming from . . . the new garbage chute.

Trip had finished it only hours earlier, and we’d already put it to heavy use for the dinner and banquet, letting the vacuum system suck the non-recyclable refuse to the waste disposal system up on Deck C.

Damn. I reached it, and just as my hand touched the rim the iris opening collapsed inward, sucking my left arm into the chute up to the shoulder. Something ripped: my sleeve I realized as it flew off my arm. I yelled, stumbling as I fought against the pull, but my body made a perfect seal and I wasn’t strong enough to break it.

I panicked, yanking and twisting but the suction held me tightly along the edges and unfortunately the ‘com panel was halfway across the room on the wall. I had the prep table in front of me, though, full of utensils for the breakfast shift, so I grabbed one of the heavy ladles and threw it at the ‘com. 

I missed.

I yanked on my arm again, feeling it going painfully numb inside the chute. “Stay calm,” I ordered myself. “Stay. _Calm_.” God, easier said than done. The second ladle connected, and the ‘com whistled, indicating an open channel.

“Hey, I need help in the Galley!” I yelled. “Please!”

No response. I yelled again. “Anybody! I’m trapped here!”

It clicked off and I let loose with a string of curses that would have made my aunt shriek and my nona cackle. I reached for a whisk, desperately wondering if it would even have enough weight to hit the button when the ‘com clicked and a babble of voices came over the connection. I heard Hoshi, Sath and T’Pol all asking me if I was all right.

“I’m stuck!” I called back as loudly as I could. “The new garbage chute broke!”

“Damn it to hell! Hang on, Chef, I’ll be right there!” Trip came through over the other voices. “Hoshi, get Phlox down there too.”

Reassured, I kept pulling to see if I could get my arm free but no such luck. Dizziness was setting in and I leaned against the chute, bracing myself and hoping I didn’t fall. If I lost my footing I’d probably break my arm at this angle.

And we’d been doing so well, too, I thought. No accidents in the galley so far, but now that record was gone. My shoulder was aching now, and the dizziness was worse. I heard running, and Trip pounded in as the doors slid open, looking horrified.

“Aw Jesus, Chef! Let’s get you out outta that!” he called, moving over to me. He tried to work a hand in between my shoulder and the tunnel wall of the chute but couldn’t, so thinking quickly, he grabbed one of the pancake spatulas and wedged it, pulling it hard and breaking the seal. I tugged my arm out, ripping it against the iris edges and collapsed against the wall, whimpering with pain. Trip snatched one of the big frying pans and pressed it against the round rim of the chute, sealing it up and holding it there as he looked at me.

“You okay?” he asked. More running feet and Phlox bounded in, making it over to me faster than I would have thought possible. He waved to a pair of techs who had a hover stretcher drifting.

“Lower it down while I help her up,” he directed firmly. “Chef, stretch out and relax as best you can.”

Annnnd off we went to Sick Bay. I remember looking at the light panels overhead, and gliding into the main exam room, but I was pretty woozy by then. Phlox was reassuring though and talked to me in that calm way of his, talking about lacerations and suction and asking me to flex my fingers. About two minutes into it, Archer came charging in, looking grim.

“What happened?” he demanded.

“Apparently Chef had her arm sucked into the garbage chute in the galley,” Phlox replied. “No broken bones but there are some lacerations and serious bruising, especially along her clavicle and scapula.”

“ _How_ did it—” Archer started, but Phlox shot him a look that shut him up mid-question. 

“I suggest you check with the Chief Engineer; right _now_ I need to concentrate on my patient, Captain.”

I looked at Archer who knew he couldn’t do anything for me except leave me in good hands. He came over and put a hand on my good shoulder. “Franny, I’ll be back,” he murmured. To Phlox he added in a louder voice, “You’re right, Doctor. Take _damned_ good care of her,” and he left.

I worked on not crying, which was harder than it sounded. Phlox was rotating my arm and he hit a degree that made me yowl.

“Sorry, sorry. Yes let’s get you something for the pain,” he murmured. I heard a hypo hiss and then I was out.


	13. Chapter 13

The first thing I did when I woke up a few hours later was to demand to see both Trip and Archer. Pushy of me, yeah, but I needed to make sure neither one of them said or did something stupid because of the accident. Phlox reminded me it was the middle of the night and he doubted either one was awake, but for once he was wrong.

Both of them showed up, and from their body language I could tell there had already Been Words. Archer’s posture was stiff as a board, and Trip looked like hell, with bags under his eyes and his hair a total mess. 

Tactfully, Phlox left.

“Chef, I’m _so_ damned sorry--” Trip began, but I raised my good hand to stop him since my left arm was wrapped in some sort of flexible cast to ease the swelling.

“I know you are. And I’m sure there’s a reasonable if unfortunate root cause to what happened, right?”

“Yeah,” He nodded, flicking a glance at Archer, who was refusing to unbend. “When I did the installation, I didn’t count on the extension of the chute increasing the suction. It was only about forty-five centimeters but that was enough to boost the drawing power by a third. I shoulda caught it, but because I didn’t . . . you got hurt.”

“And that’s _not_ acceptable,” Archer ground out. “You could have lost your arm, F-Chef,” he caught himself. “Modifying this ship is necessary at times but this was a completely avoidable risk!” 

“Whoa,” I growled at him. “I seem to recall mentioning the garbage chute issue back when the Enterprise was in dry dock and specifically telling you back THEN that I was going to get it modified. And correct me if I’m wrong, but Chief Tucker is an orbital engineer and warp drive specialist, not a professional kitchen remodeler, yes?”

Both of them looked a little uncomfortable at that, and I went on. “The best thing that comes out of an accident is a chance to learn, okay? Trip knows now what to do to fix the chute—no, don’t argue with me, it’s STAYING, Jon Archer!” I snapped at him because he looked as if he was going to protest. “Damn it, we’re the prototype and that includes the galley. I want a working garbage chute that eliminates those three extra footsteps. AND I want the two of you to realize this isn’t going to be the last design accident you guys are going to have to deal with!”

Yeah I was loud by now, giving them both hard glares. “It. Was. An. Accident. They happen all the time, especially in a kitchen. Trip wasn’t setting a death trap. I didn’t lose my arm, and I’m going to be supremely pissed if you two don’t get OVER this.”

They looked at each other.

Men! I looked to the ceiling for strength.

“Fine? Want to play hard ball? I swear on the head of my patron saint Julia herself that I will _never_ make Eggs Benedict again on this ship. EVER, Captain.” I shot a look at Trip. “And you-- don’t _make_ me add pan-fried catfish to that list, Chief Tucker!”

For a few seconds they shifted uneasily and then Trip sighed. “Don’t know about you, Jon, but no more catfish? I’m kinda over a barrel here.”

Archer fought a grin and didn’t succeed; I saw by the way his shoulders dropped fractionally that I’d made my point. “She does make a mean Eggs Benedict.”

“Hell yeah. And I don’t want to be the one to tell Ensign Cholokwesi we’d never have his favorite again. Man’s nearly seven feet tall.”

Archer drew in a deep breath. “Yeah, not a riot I want to start.” To me he gave a slightly wounded look. “Chef, I’d be a lesser man if I didn’t admit you have a few good points, especially about our ship being the prototype. I AM concerned about accidents though and that’s not going to change anytime soon.”

“I know,” I admitted, reaching my good hand out to Trip. “But we are a team here and need to act like it. Trip, I’m trusting _you_ to fix that chute so it’s both safe and efficient. Captain, I’m trusting _you_ to log the modification for future blueprints so we can all move on, okay?”

I squeezed Trip’s hand hard, just to show I was good, and he blinked at me, managing a crooked smile. “Cap?”

Archer nodded. “Do it. But get some rest first, Trip. You look like hell.”

The chief gave a snort. “Like you look any better. Rest up, Chef.” He sauntered out, leaving me and Archer to stare at each other, and I gritted my teeth.

“Okay, if you’re going to yell at me, now’s the time to do it,” I told Archer. “I overstepped my authority there and deserve to be reprimanded for it.”

“Yes you damned well _did_ and no I’m not going to yell. I’ve already done enough of that,” he sighed and pulled a chair over. “Chef, as your captain, I don’t appreciate you dressing me down in front of another member of my command staff. I’m cutting you some slack because you’re a civilian and an injured one at that, but don’t ever, EVER do that again, got it?” His expression was pure granite and I nodded quickly.

“Got it.”

“All right,” Archer replied, sliding a hand on my cast and resting it there. “On the other side, as someone who cares a hell of a lot about you, I reserve the right to react badly if you get hurt, Franny. It comes with the territory.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, feeling exhausted now. “I’m sorry I put you through this.”

“Accidents happen,” Archer reminded me. “Neither of us have to like them. Need more medication?”

I shook my head and gazed at him, studying his face. “Phlox says I’ll be cabin-bound for two days at least to let the swelling go down. It’s going to drive me crazy.”

“Yeah,” he replied, one corner of his mouth quirking up, finally. “It probably will, but knowing you you’ll figure something out. I could always bring Porthos by.”

I brightened. “I’d like that.” My eyes were closing now, but I didn’t want to fall asleep just yet. Not without one last thing unsaid. “Jon?”

“Yes,” he rumbled back.

“I . . . care a hell of a lot about you too.”

He seemed to drink that in and bent close; not enough to kiss me, but enough that we were in that intimate space looking in each other’s eyes. “Get better, sweet Francesca.”

I watched Archer’s broad back as he left Sick Bay and smiled.

*** *** ***

Maalik was upset of course; he brought me waffles after the breakfast shift, telling me about the team of engineers that were getting in his way as they fiddled with the chute.

“I could barely find room to make omelets!” he groused. “And of course I was worried about you and everyone was asking if you were all right, that that put my whole rhythm off for the morning. That Unnatural isn’t worth it.”

“Unnatural?” I looked at him over my plate.

“Nature abhors a vacuum,” Maalik reminded me. “And since the chute is nothing more than a great big one, it’s unnatural.”

“That . . . almost made sense,” I snickered. “Listen, Hoshi offered to help, especially for the dinner shift. She wants to make oden, but don’t let her get obsessive about it, okay?”

“I’ll try,” Maalik nodded. “In the meantime, rest, all right?”

Easier said than done. I made vids for my family, working hard to keep my arm out of sight as I talked about the trip to Risa and the success of the banquet. On the vid for Rolf, I showed off the cast and talked about the accident, knowing he’d understand and be amused about it. 

I didn’t share my new relationship on either vid. Partially because of a serious need for discretion; all the vids were probably screened by Star Fleet anyway, and partially because it was all still too new. I hadn’t really sorted out my feelings regarding Jon Archer and until I did, mum was definitely the word. Or lack of one.

After that I caught up on paperwork. I’m sure lots of folks thought my job was strictly about cooking but that was only part of it. I was responsible for running a database for nutritional content that overseen by Phlox; compiling a general grocery manifest shared with Lieutenant Sath and Captain Archer; checking hydroponic garden analysis reports, and building up a menu file from scratch. Most of these things got sent back to Star Fleet for their culinary program so I tried to be conscientious about staying up to date. Nothing like knowing you’re the first working model to put a little pressure on.

Recording, checking, verifying and filing all that took most of the morning, made slower by not being able to comfortably use the keyboard. By the time I stood up and stretched, I heard all the vertebrae in my back crackling, ugh.

My door ‘com clicked. “You up for a visitor?” Archer asked. I hit the open button to find him standing there, Porthos in his arms. 

“Hey pup!” I cheerfully stroked the beagle’s head, letting him lick my arms in return. “How was that bone, huh? Big enough for ya?”

To Archer I just smiled. “Yes, would love a visitor.”

“We thought so. I brought you some lunch as well,” he replied, holding out a plastic container. “Chicken salad sandwiches.”

“Ah.” I had a suspicion based on the uniformity of the bread slices. “These came from the protein re-sequencer, didn’t they?”

Archer set Porthos down and shot me a quizzical look. “Yeah. I didn’t want to bother Maalik while he was working, so I punched the order into the wall panel.”

Porthos made a serious inspection of my cabin, sniffing everything in doggy nose range while I waved Archer to the desk chair and plopped myself on the bed. “I could tell.”

“You’re saying you can tell the difference between natural and re-sequenced protein?” He looked amused, leaning forward and resting his arms on his thighs. 

I nodded. “Absolutely. I ran all seventeen of the programs back when we first launched. I know what’s sequenced and what isn’t by taste alone.”

“Should I go back and get something else from the galley?” Archer asked, looking concerned, but I shook my head and picked up one of the sandwich halves.

“Nah. To me the taste difference is minor. I’m not so much of a picky eater that I’ll turn down a catered meal.”

Archer relaxed, reaching for a other sandwich half. “How’s the arm?”

“A LOT better. Still bruised but not puffy,” I assured him. “It’s the shoulder that aches a bit.” Having finished his inspection, Porthos came over and eyed our hands, tail wagging hopefully.

“You’ve already eaten,” Archer reminded him, and I laughed when the dog simply turned his pleading look at me.

“So how long have you had him?” I asked, and got the history of Porthos in return. I laughed to myself at how quickly Archer glossed over the ‘ex-girlfriend’ part of the story and managed to get the sandwich down without too much aftertaste. 

“In two days we’ll reach a space station run by Tellerites,” Archer told me. “They’ll have that coolant we need but I suspect we’ll have to do some horse trading. T’Pol says they have a market with all sorts of goods from this system, including produce so I was thinking of having Maalik go down--”

“AND me,” I interrupted.

“You’re injured,” Archer murmured, tossing his napkin in the box and moving over to the bed to lounge next to me. “And frankly, the last two—no, _three_ times you’ve left this ship . . . have been memorable.”

“None of those were strictly my fault,” I argued sweetly. “And if Maalik and say, Lieutenant Sath are with me I’ll be fine. Come on; this arm is as good as healed and I owe it to the Starfleet Culinary program to research all sorts of cuisines.”

“No,” Archer told me, reaching to lightly rub my shoulder. “Not my call by the way; until Phlox says you’re fit for duty, you’re confined to the ship.”

I knew that, but it still wasn’t fun to hear. I let myself sink down against his shoulder, enjoying the cuddle even as I sulked.

Archer snickered. “Do you know anything about Tellerites?”

“No, but I intend to find out,” I told him. “Just for spite.”

“Yeah, with that attitude you’d fit right in with them, trust me. I have to go,” Archer told me, “But I’ll try to stop in again later tonight. Nothing . . .” he blushed, “Ah, physical. Don’t want to hurt you.”

“My _arm_ was injured, not the choice bits of me,” I pointed out with some exasperated sass. 

Archer leaned over and kissed me, one of those slow sultry ones that made me completely lose whatever train of thought I had. When he broke it off, he gave a low groan. “ _All_ the bits of you are choice, Franny, and I can wait a little longer until you’re whole again.”

“All right,” my grumpiness was fading and I rose with him. Archer scooped up Porthos and the box as I opened the door. “But I’m a very fast healer!”

“I’m counting on it,” Archer growled at me with a grin before hefting his dog and turning the corner onto the main corridor, leaving me blushing.


	14. Chapter 14

With damned little else to do, I DID read, and it turns out that Starfleet has some dandy databases to browse through. I started with Tellerites, looking specifically for cuisines, and found myself checking out Andorans, Vulcans, Denobulans and several other non-terran cultures on a whim. Not much was listed in terms of foods, but I did take notes on what WAS there and thought about setting up a xeno-cultural cooking file, figuring it would be handy to pull up recipes and information from one place.

Apparently the Vulcans had submitted a fair amount of information about their cuisines, with notes about how they evolved from a carnivorous diet to the current vegetarian one. One writer in particular—Kizas—had written up a fascinating little volume all about Vulcan beer, which they used primarily for a pesticide, but which was also occasionally served in ceremonies during the late planting season. I made a note to see if I could get some Vulcan beer, just for a taste.

In the footnotes, Kizas made reference to his botanical guide, and of course, I looked _that_ up as well.

By the time I made my way to Sick Bay in the late afternoon to be checked by Phlox I was still bubbling over with delight about all I’d learned. “We need more plants,” I told the doctor, who smiled indulgently at me as he unlatched the cast.

“Is that so?”

“Yes. We should start cuttings of Taxia wheat and icoberry and I’d love to see if we could actually grow a Bingaz bush,” I enthused. “The desserts I could make with even a few Bingaz would be amazing.” 

“Bingaz, oh my yes, that would be a plus,” he agreed. “Although they do need a _lot_ of vertical space. You’d need a corner of the shuttle bay hangar to grow one. What brought on this sudden enthusiasm for gardening?”

So I told him about Kizas and my studies as Phlox flexed my arm and concentrated on my shoulder.

“I’ve studied some botany; mostly as it relates to toxins or predatory plants,” Phlox told me. “You do realize that _most_ of the plants you’re discussing haven’t all been checked yet against human digestion, right?”

“Gotta start somewhere. So?” This last was in reference to my arm, of course.

“Nearly healed,” he told me. “I can release you for light duty if you’re up to it, Chef. Nothing strenuous; if you need to lift anything, call for a crewman to do it.”

“I promise,” I beamed at him. “Just for that, I’m making you Denobulan sausage for dinner!”

He smiled—that really strange-looking pronounced Denobulan smile—so I knew I’d said the right thing. “Thank you, Chef.”

\--oo00oo--

Maalik looked up from grating parmesan, both relieved and worried to see me but I got busy with vegetable prep and announced, “I’m back—what did I miss?”

“Well, Crewman Halliday is trying to break up with Crewman Santos but they keep getting opposite shifts so it hasn’t happened yet,” Maalik reported. “Ensign Sato’s oden was a huge hit and I’ve added it to the database. Oh, and there’s a rumor that you and the captain hate each other.”

“Ookay,” I sighed. “How did _that_ one get started?”

“Something about how you embarrassed him in front of the Shabotax, and now he’s angry with you because of the garbage chute incident,” Maalik responded, looking at me with amusement. “There are people saying you’ll be grounded from the space station trip because of it.”

I made a face. “If I am it will be because of my stupid arm and not because of any fight with the captain.”

“Speaking of which, now IS your arm?”

“Light duty for another day,” I sighed, dicing green peppers as efficiently as I could. “It’s a lot better.”

“Well don’t push it,” Maalik advised. “I don’t want to go down to the space station by myself, you know.”

“No?” I looked over at him.

Maalik lowered his voice and I noticed his face was red. “The beard,” he told me. “Apparently they are a sign of virility, and are very appealing to Tellerite ladies.”

Images of squat, porcine-faced women making passes at my somewhat shy sous made me laugh. “Really?”

“Yes,” Maalik sighed. “And although I cannot help but be flattered, I will also find it very awkward, Fran.”

I nodded sympathetically. I knew Maalik had once been engaged but it had fallen through when the girl broke it off. He told me his family was in the process of making new arrangements but I hadn’t heard anything more since we’d boarded the ship and didn’t feel comfortable in asking. “True. Well if you and Sath both ask for me and you let Phlox know why, I may be able to go. No promises.”

His expression lightened. “Thank you,” Maalik murmured. “Here’s hoping, yes?”

“Yes. Pass me those onions, will you?”

*** *** ***

I had a plan for the evening. Partially as a sort of experiment, and partially because my earlier boredom made me think up evil thoughts, so I had Maalik take Archer’s dinner to the Captain’s Mess (And _that_ was certainly going to give the rumor more fuel, I thought) and I slipped away to my quarters, getting myself ready.

I turned out the lights, and left my door the tiniest bit ajar. Not enough to be noticed when passing by, but clear enough when you were next to it. 

It wasn’t precisely a trap . . . I considered it more of a lure. A way of controlling the setting as it were, and I didn’t have long to wait. After a while, footsteps came down the hall and turned, approaching my door. I kept perfectly still up against the inside wall, breathing softly.

“Franny?” Archer sounded worried. I watched light coming in from the hallway flicker as he tried the ‘com and then his fingers slipped around the door edge, pushing it open. Cautiously he stepped inside, and I tapped the button. The door wooshed shut, leaving us both in the dark, but I had the advantage of being oriented and he didn’t.

I pounced.

Pressing myself against his back, I slid my arms around his waist and ground a little against Archer’s ass, letting my hands press just under his navel. He flinched in reaction, trying to turn but I wouldn’t let him.

“Franny . . .” Now he sounded confused, and I slithered around him until we were chest to chest. Before he could move, I grabbed his wrists and held them firmly against his sides.

“Shhhhh,” I breathed into Archer’s face, and then I nosed the front of his throat, finding the little pull tab for his uniform. Taking it in my teeth, I tugged it down, squatting as smoothly as I could, dragging it all the way to his groin. Since I still had a grip on his wrists I felt his tension all along his stomach. I blew a warm breath there, and mouthed my way along the front of his regulation boxers, thrilled at how quickly I was getting a reaction from his body.

“W-what are you doing?” Archer demanded, a little hoarsely, I noticed with glee. I pulled his hands behind his hips, squeezing to indicate that he was to keep them there, and brought my own back around to the front of his thighs, rubbing them through the fabric.

I didn’t bother answering, making it more than evident what I was doing by touches and kisses alone. When I finally hooked my fingers into the waistband of his boxers and tugged them down, the heavy shaft of Archer’s erection rose up, stroking along my cheek. I turned my face to kiss it.

“Uhhhnnnghhh,” he groaned, hips rocking forward. Before he could say anything, I slipped my mouth over the blunt end of it, feeling aroused, smug and delighted all at the same time. As I moved to grip his hips, I opened my mouth wider and savored what I was doing.

Pretty basic, but I hadn’t tasted Archer prior to this, and he’d been so very good to _me_ in that department that I thought I was high time I reciprocated. From the guttural sounds he was making I must have been doing it right, which was fun to know, and when I swirled my tongue and caressed his thighs, he gasped.

I kept up a steady stroking rhythm, pulling his boxers down, letting them bunch along his shins along with the jumpsuit, doing my best not to choke because yes there was a LOT of him sliding in and out of my mouth by now. Our tempo increased, and I felt Archer shift his hands, bringing them to grip my shoulders but I kept my lips soft and over my teeth. When it became clear he was going to orgasm, I raked my nails over the cheeks of his ass and Archer growled, thrust after thrust nearly overwhelming me.

One of the nicer effects of Null was that it neutralized the bitter taste of semen and I can vouch first hand now that yes it’s effective. I drank down what I’d been so lustily given and stayed still, letting the man shudder through the aftershocks and gradually catch his breath.

I rose up again, pressing lingering kisses along Archer’s damp stomach until I reached the hollow over his collarbone. His arms were around me now, and by the shuffling of his feet I knew he was slipping out of his boots and clothing until we were both naked in the darkness.

“Bed,” I told him, pulling him towards the bunk. Archer stretched out and cuddled me on top of him, the pair of us shifting to get comfortable. I was still aroused, but content too, feeling happy. He kissed my head, hands stroking my body in slow, sweet passes.

“That . . .” Archer finally rumbled, “God, I’ve never had anything like _that_ before, Franny.”

“You’ve never had a blow--” I began but he interrupted me, chuckling and I felt his chest move under my head.

“--That’s not the part I meant,” he corrected in an almost shy voice.

“Oh the pouncing,” I murmured, pleased with myself. “That part.”

“The pouncing,” Archer agreed. “And the . . . uh, bossiness.”

“Keeping your hands to yourself,” I said, running a hand across his furry chest and letting my nail circle one of his nipples. “My cabin; my rules.”

Archer shivered under me. “Oh that’s how it is?”

“Yep,” I told him. “We played by your rules in your cabin.”

He seemed to consider that and gave a contented sigh. “Okay then.” As an afterthought, Archer added, “How’s your arm?”

“Good,” I assured him. “Light duty today, back to full duty tomorrow.”

He made an affirmative noise and I knew he was drifting off, so I snuggled against the curve of his arm and let myself sleep a little as well, feeling content.

I wasn’t sure how long we were out—it couldn’t have been too long—when I heard Archer speaking softly in the darkness. He probably thought I was still asleep, or maybe he knew I was awake but it didn’t matter.

“Nobody’s ever made me feel like this before,” he murmured. “It’s crazy. I’m nearly a decade older than you, Franny, and not exactly in a situation to offer you much in the next few years except uncertainty.”

I shifted myself so I could look down into his face in the dim light, smiling a little. “I’ll take it.”

“I’m serious,” Archer groused. “I could get killed on any given day--”

“Me too,” I reminded him. “Jon, we’re both in outer space with only a few centimeters of metal and pressure keeping us from death, yeah? All we have is whatever we can make of our days right now and frankly I’m not going to regret any of them. Maybe you are older than I am, but it doesn’t bother me any.” As I spoke I wriggled a bit; his body responded nicely to that.

“Franny---” he couldn’t decide whether to scowl or laugh, but when his big hands came up to clutch my ass, I purred.

“My cabin, my rules,” I reminded him. “Let me tell you something, Jonathan Archer. You are sweet and sexy and fun and worth every minute of exasperation. I’m happy. Get that? With you, I’m happy.”

It was the right thing to say; he lifted his head to kiss me just as the alert went off.


	15. Chapter 15

Ever watch someone try to panic-dress in the dark? I was scared Archer was going to fall and knock himself out so I snapped on the lights and grabbed his boots from the floor while he climbed back into his jumpsuit uniform. I handed him the boots, got a quick kiss and a promise—“Sorry, I’ll make it up to you I _swear_!”—and out he bolted, leaving me to watch him go and snicker because yep—

His boxers were still on my floor.

Ah well, this was the way things would _be_ on this ship, I thought, and went to retrieve the captain’s underwear. The alert cut out after a few minutes, and I finally heard the general hail that cancelled it. By then I was too sleepy to worry about much of anything else and went back to bed hoping everything was all right.

I wasn’t due in the kitchen until lunch prep, but I was curious as to the alert, so I wandered into the galley for coffee and a croissant the next morning. Maalik and Sath were checking over something on a PADD. They both looked up at me and waved me over.

“Morning, Chef. So Maalik thinks we need more cooking oil but I’ve already got two gallons in stock; what do you think?”

“Oh we’re going to need more,” I nodded. “What about eggs?”

“Powdered mostly; we’re nearly out of fresh, unless you want Doctor Phlox to keep chickens in his Sick Bay,” Sath snickered. “Which he probably would _do_ if you asked.”

Maalik shook his head. “Livestock on a ship would require all sorts of permits; we’ll make do with whatever we can negotiate for, right, Fran?”

“Agreed. Hey, what was that alert about last night?” I asked and took a sip of my coffee to hide my face.

Sath shrugged. “Another coolant leak down in engineering, I heard. Apparently the stuff seeped into an electrical panel and set off the alarm. I’m telling you that crap seems to have a mind of it’s own.”

“Just as long as it doesn’t leak in here,” Maalik grumbled. “Bad enough with a garbage chute trying to eat us.”

“Speaking of which, how’s your arm? Think the doctor will let you come down to the station with us?” Sath wanted to know.

“I should be good,” I ventured, holding out my arm and flexing it. “As long as you don’t make me lift weights or anything.”

“Good,” Maalik beamed. “That’s wonderful!”

“Hey, I’m not lifting weights either,” Sath grumbled. “Here’s hoping they have one of those anti-grav pallet loaders if we need anything large, but we’re still pretty well stocked up.”

I gave a shrug. “Let’s check with Phlox and if it’s a go, we’ll go get briefed.”

\--oo00oo—

I assumed that Korraav Station would be small, functional and dreary; like a collection of warehouses in space, I guess. Most of the supply runs so far had been in places like that to be honest—lots of industrial steel and dry ventilation.

Not Korraav Station. 

Maalik, Sath, and I docked and walked through a few airlock doors onto a vast concourse holding all sorts of shops running businesses under a fancy dome with neon lights. I was stunned at the number of people and species around us, even though we had clear directions to where we needed to go. Maalik was just as dazed, glancing around in mild shock.

It’s like market day in Fresno!” he marveled, earning a snort from Sath.

“We are a loooong way from Fresno, man.”

“What do you smell?” I asked, because there were some amazing scents drifting in the air. “Somebody’s grilling something.”

“Fran, _no_ side trips,” Sath warned me. “Let’s get our business done first and then if there’s time maybe we can look around.”

He was being sensible and for once I agreed, letting Sath take the lead and bring the three of us along a hallway of shops with scrolling signs in their windows. At the second one, Sath’s PADD blinked, and he waved a hand on the sensor; it opened and we all stepped in, looking around curiously.

A short little Tellerite woman with long curly hair, a pushed up nose and the prettiest eyelashes I’ve ever seen sat on a stool in front of a counter, running her short fingers over a screen. She glanced up, and then took a fuller look at us.

“The Starfleet-ers,” she called out in a husky voice, and climbed off her stool, coming towards us. “None of you look like leaders; which of you is it?”

“Me,” Sath told her. He was only about four inches taller than she was, which meant I and Maalik towered over this woman.

She gave a disbelieving snort. “And you don’t even have a beard? What kind of leader are you? Now _that_ one,” and she waved a hand at Maalik, “He’s got the look of a leader.” To my sous she added, “I am Viikna.”

“Maalik Singh Khan,” he bowed. 

I cleared my throat. “Fran DeMarelli.”

“Nobody asked,” she replied, and I would have gotten mad, but we’d all gotten a briefing on Tellerite customs and I knew this was just her way of inviting an argument and establishing our credentials.

Tellerites are the Welshmen of space, apparently.

“So nobody will be answered,” I replied. “Are you going to sit there drooling over my fellow shipmate, or are you going to show us what your store has? We don’t need to be here; there are several other shops just as good, if not better.”

“So you think we don’t have what you need?” Viikna grunted back, but with a smile. “Think again, Terran! Whatever you’re looking for, you’ll find it here, and don’t think I won’t get my profit even if you dangle that _handsome_ one—” she waved at Maalik again—“in front of me!”

“I dunno,” Sath joined in, crossing his arms. “If you spend all your time flirting, you probably don’t really care about doing business.”

And we were off. Viikna countered with all sorts of comments about Starfleet being wet behind the ears and that we probably had no idea about real quality foodstuffs and maybe it wasn’t even worth her time to take us around even as she got out a scanner and opened a loading bay door behind her counter. We followed her into a warehouse of aisles with low shelving, and I fought the urge dance around.

Exotic spices in huge bins; bright grains of all sorts including some in decahedron shapes, condiments in strange bottles; tables of fruits in fantastic hues including what looked like corkscrew bananas and a cluster of transparent grapes.

I gawked. 

Sath blinked.

Maalik gave a polite cough and turned away. “No,” he sighed, as if his heart was broken, “No, not good enough. Clearly we are wasting our time here, Viikna.”

Both Sath and I goggled at Maalik, but Viikna was aglow, clearly in her element. 

“Let me guide you around,” she pleaded. “I know quality and even though your companions are ugly, I’ll force myself to endure them if you’ll at least let me show you the best stuff here.”

Maalik looked at Viikna consideringly. “It’s a nice offer, but Korraav is full of other vendors. Prettier vendors,” he added mildly. “I need a little more to keep me interested.”

Sath grinned and whispered to me, “Son of a photon; he’s haggling! Damn, we’ve been _had_ , Fran—he knows exactly what he’s doing!”

I hid my smirk, staring at Maalik with new respect. He listened to Viikna and shook his head again, countering until she finally nodded, pulling out a small pad device of her own to make notes. When she trotted off to talk to someone in the warehouse, I sauntered over to my sous and butted his shoulder with mine.

“I feel utterly _played_ here, _saipha_.”

Maalik flashed me a grin. “Market day in Fresno,” he repeated. “Twenty years of watching my grandmother get the best cumin and yogurt and curry. Keep saying no until they say yes.”

“Your grandmother is a star,” I told him solemnly. “Keep it up because I covet those crazy bananas.”

\--oo00oo—

A few hours later we had not only everything we’d come for but also three loads of exotics that Viikna kept pressing on us. It was fun to watch her haggle with Maalik, and I got the sense that they both enjoyed the by-play a great deal.

“You’re clearly going to need help with these provisions,” Viikna grumbled, “because I can tell none of you have even BEEN in a kitchen. It’s an embarrassment to have to tell you this, but two shops over is a data supplier who has access to the details and recipes for what you have. Try not to mention my name; I don’t need the social stigma.”

“I’d thank you but it would be a waste of time,” Maalik told her courteously. “I will make it a point of honor to tell everyone I can exactly how we were treated here, and specifically mention you by name.”

Viikna beamed. “Just what I would have expected of a manner-less Terran.”

We arranged for the goods to be taken to the shuttlecraft and found ourselves with a little time to explore, so we did. Sath insisted we stick together and I saw the sense in that, so we made a circuit of the promenade, moving from shop to shop and talking softly. 

The first three were selling tools, and while none of us were interested in buying any, Sath was intrigued by the different types. “Not all of these are Tellerite,” he pointed out. “I’m guessing this station services all sorts of folks. Chief Tucker oughta check these places out.”

“True,” Maalik nodded. We walked on, and a Tellerite couple came the other way; the male merely grunted but the female eyed my sous appreciatively.

“Let me know when you’re ready to drop that ugly mate of yours and experience true love!” she called to Maalik, who promptly went red in the face.

“Arranged marriage,” he replied. “Clearly my parents were blind. And vindictive.”

This made the couple snort in laughter as they walked on, and even I had to hide a snicker.“Ow! You do remember I’m your boss, right?”

“Fran, as the saying goes, you ARE my beard.”

Sath broke up at that, and we stopped in front of another shop to let him catch his breath. I looked in the window and gave a sigh of delight:

Clothing and textiles. Not just clothing but pretty dresses and sleek unitards all in fascinating fabrics with designs I’d never seen before. I looked at my companions. “I’m going in here. You can wait outside if you’re not into clothes but I’m intrigued.”

Maalik was staring through the window and nodded. “I would like a new turban wrap, so I will join you.”

We left Sath outside and ventured in; fifteen minutes later I had two little dresses and my sous had a five foot length of cloth in a color between sage and smoky blue. Both of us were thrilled; Sath just rolled his eyes.

“We’ve only got half an hour left, so let’s move.”

It’s amazing what you can buy in 30 minutes, especially with Vulcan Exchange tokens. By the time we walked back to the shuttlecraft I had a Tellerite palm harp; my dresses, and a holographic file of information on our new supplies. Maalik had his turban cloth and some interesting beard grooming products while Sath had splurged on a portable sort of roulette wheel with malachite and oxblood marbles.

“I can run my own games instead of trying to get in on Ensign Sato’s!” he gleefully told us. “I’ll make back what we’ve just spent in a week, easy!”

“Do you even know how to work that thing?” I asked, climbing into the shuttle and buckling up. 

Sath gave me a knowing look. “I’ll figure it out; I’m THAT smart.”

I snorted and glanced at Maalik, who was smiling. “So . . . first trip to a different world, sort of. What it what you expected?”

“Nicer,” Maalik admitted. “More familiar than I thought it would be. Isn’t it strange how the common thread of optimism runs through the universe, binding us all?”

I nodded. “It’s strange and marvelous, I agree.”

*** *** *** 

When I carried my new purchases into my cabin, I nearly missed the little piece of paper inside the doorsill, but caught it as I started to leave. 

_Franny,_ the note said, _IOU. Would like to see you at twenty-one hundred hours if possible to repay that with interest. JA_

I almost missed the PS: _Pls bring my underwear too._


	16. Chapter 16

I still wasn’t used to slipping out to Archer’s quarters, but I managed it, and in one of my new Tellerite dresses to boot. Normally I’m not particularly fashion-conscious but months and months of wearing chef uniforms and seeing dark jumpsuits had me craving a little change in color and cut. This dress was periwinkle blue with long slashes of glittery green in a deep V neck and I loved it. Of course it was short, since it had been designed for another species but the cut hit me mid-thigh, and my legs looked still looked pretty good. I wanted to saunter but knew the minute I did so, someone would spot me, so . . . I slunk.

When I hit the ‘com I heard the door slide open and stepped inside.

Archer was there lounging on what looked to be a full-sized bed, I noted. He set down the book he’d been reading and gave me a long look taking me in from top to bottom, his eyes bright.

“You look . . . scrumptious,” he breathed, rolling forward and getting to his feet. “Come here.” 

I did, feeling shyly flattered. Archer took my hands in his big ones and gazed at me again; by now I was feeling self-conscious. “It’s just a dress,” I muttered.

“Frosting on a cake,” he replied and now I did blush, feeling heat across my face. 

“So . . . bigger bed?”

“Yes,” Archer agreed, sparing a glance over his shoulder. “I had Trip swap one out from the guest quarters to assuage his guilt over the garbage disposal incident.”

“Does he . . . suspect?” I wanted to know as Archer drew me into his arms.

“Probably. Between my nearly tearing his head off over the accident and this request if Trip hasn’t put two and two together then he’s not the engineer I know he is.” Now Archer nuzzled my neck and I shuddered at the sensation. All the light and little touches were driving me crazy.

“And he’s . . . discreet?”

“Mm-hmm,” Archer was moving his mouth up under my ear even as one hand slid up between my shoulders and the other down one side of my ass. I felt the heat of his touch through the dress.

Definitely feeling squirmy now. I shivered again, not sure if I should stop talking or not. After a few more of Archer’s kisses trailing across my cheek to my mouth, I certainly stopped thinking, that’s for sure. He took his time kissing me, drawing each one out playfully, putting his whole focus into them in a way I’d never experienced before. I’d kissed, I’d made out but these were deliberately maddening and I found myself wriggling.

“Jon . . .” I gasped, “You’re driving me _crazy_ here!”

“Am I?” his low voice was a little breathless as well, but I heard a hint of smugness.

“Yessss,” I admitted, my mind focused on the larger bed behind him and how we could put it to good use starting immediately.

“Okay then,” He grinned at me. “But first—” he handed me a little oval box, pressing it into my hand.

Panic mode. I pulled away, staring at it. “What’s that?”

“Something from Korraav station,” Archer told me. “You would not _believe_ the debate I had to go through with the merchant to get them, either.”

“Oh?” The ‘them’ relieved a little of my trepidation and I hesitantly lifted the lid to reveal two elongated crystal rod earrings with a pearly shine to them “Oooohhhhh . . .” I couldn’t help myself and looked up at him.

“Xullalite,” Archer murmured. “Tellerites call it Tears of Joy. I . . . thought you’d like them.”

“Yes, I do,” I admitted, lifting one out and holding it up as it twinkled. “Jon, you didn’t have to _do_ this!”

“Nope,” he agreed. “But I wanted to. It’s a lover’s prerogative and they’re pretty, and . . . I liked doing it.” By now Archer was blushing which was enough to make me giggle.

“You liked arguing with shopkeepers over a pair of earrings?”

“No, I liked getting you something,” he replied, watching me. “I thought about what you said to me and I feel the same way, Franny: You are sweet and sexy and fun and worth every minute of exasperation.”

I gave him a look of mock-offense. “I’m never exasperating!”

“You are _frequently_ exasperating,” Archer corrected. “Frequently.”

I just smiled. “How long was the haggling?”

“Ninety minutes, with another twenty for the damned box.”

It took me a moment to set the box down, and another two to slip out of the dress while he watched. “Let me show you my deep appreciation for the gift and for you.”

“Ah,” Archer caught my shoulders and smiled down at me. “My cabin, my rules.”

“Which are?” I asked impatiently.

“First--put the earrings on,” he told me, a definite gleam in his eyes. 

I took out my little hoops and slipped the Tellerite earrings on, feeling them dangling as I turned my head to show them off.

Archer nodded approvingly, moving closer and bringing his mouth to hover over mine. “Dressed for bed,” he purred in a tone that had me tingling.

It was different this time. All the desire was ramped up for both of us, but there was something else in the mix now; something that made us both draw things out as long as we could. First it was all touching; strokes and tickles and little rubs. Those were followed by kisses both light and lingering—and honestly, I got kissed in places I’d never been kissed before, the like backs of my knees, and the instep of my feet. You haven’t _lived_ until you’ve felt the hot breath and light nip of teeth in spots like those, whoa!

Mind you, reciprocating those was fun too; Archer might be calm and confident on the bridge, but in bed he could be both ruthlessly horny and utterly responsive. I’m sure my mother the psychologist would analyze something about a loner overachiever blended with a need to please people (which fit someone else in this bed, actually) but at the moment I was too busy to worry about it. 

Kisses led to licks and nips . . . I went a little feral at some point, exhilarating in my opportunity to just be a happy she-beast, leaving some tooth-marks that Archer didn’t mind in the least and returned albeit more lightly than my own. Ah the taste of the man! A hint of salt, a little sweat and the soft memorable scent of his skin; I’d know it _anywhere_ now. Archer was dark-eyed, flushed and all the sexier for it, frankly.

All I knew was I couldn’t wait much longer to have him in me, but when I tried to rush things along the man wasn’t having it. Archer rolled over me and pinned my wrists down.

“In a hurry?” he taunted softly. 

“Coolant isn’t the _only_ thing leaking around here,” I replied in frustration, rolling my hips under his, trying to shift my legs around his.

That made him chuckle. “True. What do you want, Franny?”

“You,” I replied, wriggling, rubbing slickly against him. “And you damned well _know_ it!” 

He licked my mouth. “ _All_ of me?”

“Every infuriating inch, _mio amato!_ ” I assured him. “Please, Jon!”

“I love you,” Archer confessed as he released my wrists and drove himself into me. My body responded hard, rocking with his, hips locked in frantic syncopation but my head was still reeling from his words and I found myself caught in the slick unstoppable whirlwind of pleasure and shock, the two of them intensifying matters until I climaxed and burst into tears simultaneously.

I sobbed, clutching Archer’s shoulders, my short nails digging in as he growled, pulsing deep within me in hot, sullen waves; one more intimate sensation that left me tenderly vulnerable. I tried to turn my face but he wasn’t having that and tried to keep from simply collapsing on me as he brushed his cheek with mine.

“Fuck. Franny, God, did I hurt you?! Sweetheart---”

“You can’t just _say_ that when we’re making love!” I snuffled, trying to focus on his face but failing because my lashes were wet, so everything was in fractals.

Archer looked completely baffled, flush-faced and damp. “What?”

“You can’t just say you _love_ me in the middle of sex!” I re-iterated, only now I was close to getting blubbery giggles, and since our bodies were already fairly slick, we were sliding around a bit.

“Isn’t that sort of the _perfect_ time?” he blinked, moving to brush a wet strand of hair from my face. 

“No!” I told him. “ _Dio Mio_! It’s like hitting me with a two by four! A declaration of love is extremely serious!”

“I know,” Archer pointed out. “And I wanted not only to say it but _prove_ it with the lovemaking. Love and lovemaking go together, right?”

“For all _I_ know the lovemaking is _making_ you say it!” I pointed out, rubbing the heel of my hand under each eye. “Like it’s _all_ you love.”

“It’s _not_!” he protested, and probably would have said more but we were sticky, so I shifted, feeling his softening erection slip from me. “Franny, I hope you damned well know I love ALL of you, not just your body!”

I looked at him, and something about my expression must have hit him hard because Archer tugged me into his arms, rolling us over until I was lying with my cheek resting on his furry chest as he stroked my hair. “Please tell me I haven’t fucked this up. I’m sorry for . . . for saying it at the wrong time. I guess. But it felt right to me and I’ve been trying to say it for months. I want to say it again, as a matter of fact. Is now okay?”

I sniffled. “Wait. _I_ get to say it. Jon, I love you.”

His arms tightened around me and he gave a huge sigh. “Thank God. I love you too, Franny.”

We lay together a while, not talking and falling back into our unspoken language of gentle strokes and touches. I felt calmer with every little pass of his hands on my skin.

Finally Archer murmured, “So I guess asking you to marry me while we’re in the middle of sex is out too, huh?”

“Mmm-HHHMM,” I murmured emphatically, and drifted off to sleep on him.


	17. Chapter 17

The whole ‘I love you’ issue was kind of complicated for me. My first boyfriend said it all the time and in painful hindsight I realized he never _meant_ it; it was something easy and cheap to keep me with him while I coached him through culinary school. My second boyfriend would say it only after he’d done something stupid so I would bail him out of whatever trouble he’d just created. And the last one? He never said it at _all_ , which was kind of a relief, but also shows that what we had wasn’t much, relationship-wise.

So I’d been avoiding saying it to Archer all this time, even though I’d wanted to, and I’d certainly felt it for a while. Falling in love and loving him was easy; _saying_ it though, was hard. Fortunately when I haltingly explained this to Archer, he understood, and we had a sweet/funny conversation where he coached me by making me practice it with him, like a language lesson. 

Which it was, sort of.

\--oo00oo--

Nearly two weeks went by and I filled part of that time exploring the exotic foodstuffs we’d gotten from Korraav station. Phlox scanned the fruits first, letting me know what they were composed of and gave me his thoughts on how they’d taste. It was fun, and I found out that the transparent grapes were more like a jelly honeydew flavor while the corkscrew bananas had a sort of a cocoa/dark chocolate taste to them. 

Maalik was also a willing guinea pig, and we made careful notes on everything to send back to Starfleet. When we checked up on our return messages, I was pleased not only to find vids from my mother and aunt waiting, but also a fancy holiday blast from one of my favorite spice shops in the Bay Area.

“Oh man, the holidays!” I told my sous as we logged off. “Do we observe them or not?”

“Thanksgiving and Guru Nanak Gurpurab,” Maalik murmured happily. “Are there any Vulcan or Denobulan holidays coming up? If we present it as a ship-wide communal activity I think the captain would agree to it.”

“He probably would,” I agreed. “You check with Doctor Phlox and I’ll ask T’Pol if there’s anything culturally relevant that can be added to the mix. Man, we can use those Shabotax roasts!”

Maalik grinned, nodding. “We can marinate and slow braise them, along with the first harvest of corn from the labs, and all sorts of sides!”

“Yes, okay but before we start planning things, let’s make sure we have support for it,” I reminded him. “Might be nice if a few people on the crew took point on the whole idea, and I have an idea of which ones might help us.”

I brought the idea up with Hoshi later that day, over lunch and her enthusiasm tickled me. “Sounds fabulous. I mean your food’s is _always_ good, but I know I’m not the only one feeling a little . . . homesick,” she admitted. “For Earth that is. It would be good for everyone’s morale and since it’s all onboard the ship we wouldn’t have to do much more than decorate and plan an evening out, right?”

“Yeah. Music, maybe some dancing; something everyone can be a part of,” I encouraged. Hoshi beamed and I watched her scoot out of the Mess Hall to write up plans as I grinned. When I met with Maalik, he was pleased as well.

“Doctor Phlox thinks it’s an exceptionally good idea,” he reported as we finished clearing away all the pans from lunch and started on dinner prep. “He thinks it would be a great way to build more camaraderie and remind people to be people.”

“Well hopefully it will be a go, then, if Archer agrees,” I nodded, working on butterflying chicken breasts.

\--oo00oo--

I ran the vids when I got back to my cabin.

“Franny, I wanted to let you know . . . that I’ve started dating again,” my mother told me, and even as I goggled, I noted she was blushing. “You know your father always wanted me to, but I just haven’t felt ready until recently. There’s nobody special yet, but I’ve joined a gardening group and there are a few nice people in it.”

“About time,” I sighed. My dad had been dead for eight years, and much as I loved and missed him, it was harder on my mom who only had my aunt and grandmother for company now. “Good for you!”

She chatted away about how she hoped I was doing well and that she loved the vids I sent home so that was nice. Then it was Nona Maria’s turn.

“Franny, ragazza,” Nona cackled, “I have checked my pasta and you are in love; the linguine _never_ lies, so tell us who he is. Also, your aunt has a new haircut. It’s hideous, so be prepared.”

I bit my lip. My Nona had a few bizarre superstitions and one of was Pastamancy. She’d picked it up from some ancient RPG computer game and took the studying of boiled noodles seriously. Mom and I weren’t sure if she was in the early stages of dementia, or just pulling our legs on a massive scale. I tended to think the latter, but her pasta-readings were pretty damned accurate so we humored her most of the time.

“Okay, Nona. If the linguine has foretold to you the charms of Jon Archer I guess it’s fated,” I giggled to myself. “Although he’s much more aligned with _cannelloni_ , ahem.”

Last of all my Aunt Gisella appeared and Nona Maria was right: the haircut was awful. She looked as if she was wearing a wig and it had slipped several degrees to the left side of her head. I winced as she started to speak. “Francesca, when is your ship coming back? It’s ridiculous for you to be gone so long—the stars are _not_ that interesting!”

“No, what’s ridiculous is that cut,” I told my aunt’s image. “Seriously, how anybody looks at you without laughing must be a challenge.”

“Mr. Calzini and I think you need to come home before your mother does something foolish, like get married again,” my aunt went on. “Perhaps I should call the president of Starfleet ship line and see what can be arranged.”

That made me laugh aloud. “Good luck trying,” I told my aunt.

“In any case, we love you,” she finished, and once again hefted Mr. Calzini up, making him wave a chunky paw at me before signing off.

Family. 

\--oo00oo—

“There _are_ no Vulcan holidays that would be appropriate to share with the crew,” T’Pol told me as I sat with her at lunch. “Most are rites of meditation, which I am told are . . . boring to witness.”

“I dunno. Rumarie sounded kind of wild,” I ventured, only to see her eyes widen slightly. She stirred her broth for a moment before speaking.

“An ancient and . . . less than dignified ceremony, not observed any longer, Chef. Hardly representative of current Vulcan philosophy. How did you learn of . . . Rumarie?”

“Reading Kizas’ book on beer-brewing,” I admitted. “He went into detail about the uses for it, including but not limited to pest control, grooming and, ah, celebrations. Rumarie sounds like something my ancient Roman ancestors would have been at home celebrating, that’s for sure.”

“Much like Saturnalia,” she hesitantly agreed. “Still—I’m sure you will agree that having the crew participate in Rumarie would be undignified and extremely detrimental to discipline.”

I sighed. “Yes. Although seeing Lieutenant Reed drunk would be fun—we might even get him sing some really raunchy sea shanties then.”

The tiniest flicker of amusement in T’Pol’s eyes showed agreement, even though she kept a straight face. “It would take an intoxicant of significant proof for that situation to arise.”

“Like Vulcan beer?” I prodded. “I was going to ask if you knew where I could get a bottle or two. After Kizas’ book I’m intrigued and want to try some.”

She hesitated. “I may be able to procure for you that which you seek, but . . .”

“It’s potent, yes,” I nodded, trying to hide my excitement.

“Potent is an understatement,” T’Pol admitted. “However, I would be willing to provide a small sample for your feast, should the Captain approve it, and that would be _my_ contribution. Is this acceptable?”

“Yes,” I nodded eagerly. “Thank you!”

T’Pol pursed her mouth ever so slightly. “That may not be your sentiment once you’ve had it,” she warned me, but I laughed as I rose from the table.

In the Galley, Maalik was scouring off the grills, and looked up when I came in. “When are you going to talk to the Captain?”

“When I bring in his dinner tonight,” I promised. 

\--oo00oo--

I brought in Tikki Masala that night, pairing with lentils and rice, pleased at having one of Maalik’s masterpieces to present. Archer was looked delighted with the offering, giving me that warm affectionate gaze that always made me blush a bit.

“I have a request, Captain,” I stated formally, well aware that the Mess Room door was going to be open for the evening. “May I join you after dessert?”

“Of course,” Archer replied, knowing as well as I did that some of the closer tables could hear us. “You’re welcome to join me anytime, Chef.”

“Thank you,” I told him, and left, making it a point to once again make the rounds of the Mess Hall to check on everyone’s meals before biding my time and assisting Maalik in plating meals for those who hadn’t arrived yet.

In due course I brought a single scoop of rich French vanilla ice cream topped with slices of the corkscrew banana and set it before Archer. He waved me to one of the chairs and studied the dessert for a moment.

“Not bananas. More like slices of dark chocolate with the _texture_ of a banana,” I explained. He glanced at me, took a breath and followed that with a spoonful.

Giving a nod, Archer indicated it was good, and that I was to go on, so I did. “Captain, we’re nearly eight months into our mission, and according to Earth time, nearly into November. With that in mind, I’d like to prepare a holiday meal for the crew,” I began. “I understand that not everyone on the ship celebrates Thanksgiving, but certainly we all have a lot to be thankful for, and everyone is welcome to submit a favorite holiday meal recipe, or contribute something to the banquet, should you approve it.”

Archer considered what I was saying for a moment, and nodded. “I think it’s a great idea,” he began, “but I don’t want to create extra work for you and Chef Singh.”

“I don’t think it will be,” I countered cheerfully. “If we set things up buffet style, most of the food will be pre-prepared and presented at the same time. Maalik would like to offer the roasts _Rodizio_ style.” Seeing Archer didn’t know what I meant, I clarified. “He’d carry the roasts around the Mess Hall on a sword and slice sections off for each diner.”

“Dramatic.”

“Brazilian, and yes, very much a showpiece,” I admitted, “but he’s really looking forward to a chance to do it.”

“Does he already have a sword?” Archer wanted to know, and I shook my head.

“We’ll probably use a skewer. So . . . can we do it?” I didn’t want to sound like I was begging, but I did widen my eyes at Archer, who smiled at me.

“ _On_ the dual understandings that any emergency might disrupt and take precedent over this event _and_ that participation by this crew is completely voluntary, yes.”

“Thank you sir!” I told him loudly. Under my breath I added, “You’re really sexy when you make command decisions.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he purred back.

“Oh,” I said as I rose to leave, “By the way, my Nona Maria knows about us. Apparently she did a pasta reading and said I’m in love. She wants to know about you.”

The look I got in return nearly had me in giggles; Archer looked bewildered. “A pasta reading?”

I shrugged. “I don’t ask anymore but I don’t want to lie. Permission to be affirmatively . . . vague?”

He nodded. “I’m already doing that with my own mother, so . . . carry on.”

I was halfway back to the galley, full of plans when it dawned on me what he’d said. 

His mother? He’d sort of told his mother about me?


	18. Chapter 18

So because I was making serious ship-wide plans, of course fate stepped in to screw it up. I’ve worked in kitchens long enough to know that sort of thing happens, but it’s still so disappointing when it does. Not two days after Archer gave us permission to do the Thanksgiving banquet we got an SOS about a ship in trouble, and had to go rescue it.

I was fine with that; part of the reason we were even out here was to be helpful and promote Humans as decent spacefarers who would be worthy of friendship. Assisting others was one way to do that, and because our captain was a huge Boy Scout, it was second nature for him to render aid and assistance to others. All of that I understood, even if it delayed our fancy buffet/banquet.

What I wasn’t ready for—and I don’t think anyone else was either—was the Zorida Stalope of Beta Persei. 

Apparently her ship had suffered damage from an engine fire and they’d been drifting for a few days. They’d sent out a distress call and the Enterprise was the first to respond to them. I heard all this from Sath, who added that we’d be hosting most of their crew while Trip and some of the Perseians worked on repairing their ship.

“How many are there?” I wanted to know, already trying to calculate how much more food to prep.

“It’s a small ship, so maybe eight in all,” Sath replied. “Archer’s got me setting up berths for them in one of the storage bays, and their leader’s getting the guest quarters. They’re humanoid so we don’t need to adjust the atmosphere or gravity, thank God. I’m supposed to check and see what sort of food and drink they want and arrange it with you.”

“Okay,” I agreed, “I’m ready for whatever they want.”

It turned out I was SO _not_ ready.

“The Zorida requires _these_ nutrients in _this specific_ order in these specific _quantities._ ” Her aide de camp told me as he handed over a piece of parchment. Hevelas was a short and chubby man with long curly gold hair that hung past his hips, and big lavender eyes. Those along with his dark grey skin were pretty striking but typical for Perseians, I learned. It took a while to get used to their cat ears and curved fangs but harder still was the attitude.

“All right,” I agreed. “Protein; fiber; protein; liquid nutrient and fluid. So, meat; vegetable matter; more meat; milk and water?”

Hevelas winced. “Crudely put, but it should suffice. Possibly.”

“All right, and how do you want it cooked?” I was taking notes now, hoping I could add all this to my database. Hevelas gave me a long-suffering look.

“We _don’t_ cook,” he announced. “As with all of the glorious Beta Persei, we take our nourishment in its purest and most natural forms, Human."

I translated that to mean raw and took a breath. “All right. If you would come with me to the freezer, I’d like your help in making selections--” 

“ _You_ are the . . . dispatcher of carcasses,” Helevas told me, his nose wrinkling with distaste. “Choosing is _your_ task, not mine.” 

“I see,” I worked to stay serene; _the customer is always right_ echoed in my head. “Is there someone in your crew who could assist me in making sure the selections are . . . correct?” 

“No. _Our_ dispatcher was killed in the fire, “Helevas replied shortly. “The Zorida will expect her food in half an hour.” 

“What about food from your ship?” I asked, getting a little desperate now. 

Helevas gave a smile. “Your captain brought them to your physician; check there but hurry; the Zorida _cannot_ be kept waiting.” 

“Them?” but Helevas was already leaving the galley, so I scurried to Sick Bay and Phlox. 

“They’re already breeding,” he happily informed me, holding up a clear box with big sleek-furred bodies scampering around in it. 

I shuddered. “I . . . I can’t have those in the galley!” I blurted. “They’re giant RATS!” 

“Within a similar mammalian family, yes,” Phlox agreed. “They can stay here, Chef, and you can take what you need for the Perseians as you need them.” 

“But, but— _how_ do I?” I made a chopping gesture with one hand, feeling disgusted, overwhelmed, and on the verge of very inappropriate giggles. It’s one thing—and not a very nice one, I know--- to pith a lobster or drop crabs in boiling water and quite another to dispatch mammals. On top of that, I’d had it drilled into me for years that rats were anathema in a kitchen, dead, alive, and most certainly as a meal. 

Phlox gave me an empathetic look. “Ohh, yes, that’s a bit of a dilemma, isn’t it? Do they take their food live?” 

“I don’t think so,” I muttered, watching the rats. I’m not scared of rodents but they’re not my favorite animal either, and I was pretty sure Maalik would be just as horrified when he found out what we were expected to do. 

“Hmmmm. Well, I could, er, euthanize a few if that would help,” Phlox offered. 

“Tremendously,” I told him with relief. “As in right now, since I’ve got half an hour to . . . dress them.” 

Within ten minutes I had three very limp rat corpses on my prep table as I frantically looked up how to prepare them on the computer screen. I settled on the instructions for a rabbit, and taking a deep breath, got to it. 

“I’m a _panthe_ , I’m a _panthe_ ,” became my desperate mantra as I skinned, gutted and rinsed the first giant rat. I took a few moments to throw up in the bowl with the guts, rinse my mouth and get rid of it all in the garbage chute before working on the next two rats as quickly as was safe. The minutes sped by and I was well aware that I had no idea what to offer for the vegetable matter. Mentally I decided a quick salad of greens would have to do for this first meal when I heard footsteps approaching. 

Maalik looked at me trying to artistically plate a raw carcass and froze. “By the sacred soul of Guru Gobin, what are you _doing_ , Fran!?” 

“Making dinner for our guests,” I gabbled, working as quickly as I could. “They eat raw rats, so we’re going to make nice and get these out of here ASAP!” 

“Raw . . . rats?” Maalik went pale. “No, noooooo . . .” 

“Yes,” I replied, wincing. “And yes it’s nasty but they are the guests, so we do what we must.” 

Helevas returned, barely glanced at the plates and nodded. “She requires it now, Dispatcher.” 

“Maalik, a plain green salad please and bring it ASAP,” I ordered and carried the plate I had through the Mess Hall to the Captain’s Mess, well-aware of the stares I was getting. I ignored them as best I could, but when you’ve got blood on your sleeves and a frazzled look on your face it’s not the best impression you can make, right? 

The Zorida was NOT at the other end of the table. No, she was sitting next to Archer, smiling at him, looking exotically alien and yeah gorgeous. The long curly golden hair, the big damned eyes, the mix of feline femininity had me feeling like crap but I lifted my chin and set the platter down in front of her with all the grace I could muster, given the entrée. 

She glanced at it, and went back to looking at Archer, not even giving me a look. HE at least had the decency to murmur, “Thank you, Chef,” to me. To the Zorida, Archer added, “This is our Chef, Francesca DeMarelli.” 

The Zorida flicked her gaze at me and made a moue of distaste. “A female dispatcher; on our world the un-breedable and hideously deformed do this task. Which is she?” 

Ooooh that awkward pause. 

“Neither,” Archer responded kind of sharply, and I felt a rush of gratitude, especially when he added, “on OUR world the vocation of chef is a highly regarded profession requiring dedication and training. Chef here is one of the best I have ever seen.” 

The Zorida shrugged. “Very different I suppose. The Perseian way is the only way I know, Arrrrcher, so . . .” she batted her damned eyes at him and I slunk off, knowing a dismissal when I saw one. 

Maalik nearly ran into me since I was heading into the galley and he was heading out; he caught my expression and winced. “Problems?” 

“Apparently on _her_ planet, only the un-breedable and hideously deformed are chefs,” I muttered. “Take the salad in, would you? I’d be tempted to throw it at her if I went.” 

Maalik narrowed his eyes. “Let us hope that ship is repaired as soon as humanly possible then.” 

I nodded and went to fix up Miss Bitchy-Kitty’s milk. 

__\--oo00oo—_ _

Very shortly I learned that the Zorida disliked several things and among them were: cold rat; salads that were too green; milk that was too warm; a lack of golden plates for her food; the entire ridiculous necessity of serving any cooked food around her, and Porthos. 

I guess the latter was a natural reaction but all the others fell squarely on my shoulders. I quizzed Helevas to get a better grasp of the particulars of Perseian food and after my shift that night I fell into bed, exhausted. 

Couldn’t sleep of course; I was too keyed up and honestly, too angry. I’d had to deal with spoiled brats and picky eaters before, but this guest was a first contact and part of a humanitarian effort so all I could do was suck up the complaints and keep smiling; this wasn’t going to last forever. Gradually I dropped off, working hard on not feeling sorry for myself. 

A few hours later, someone lightly tapped on my door and groggily I got up, hoping it was . . . 

It wasn’t. 

Maalik stood there awkwardly. “Franny, ah, I need you to show me how to prepare a rat,” he told me in a rush. “Apparently the Zorida is hungry and wants a midnight snack.” 

I yawned so wide I hear my jaw crack. “ _A quest’ora?_ Does she think this is some damned luxury cruise ship?” 

He looked so woebegone that I turned my grumpy expression into a sigh. “Never mind me. Okay, let’s go get a rat from the doctor . . .” 

We trudged to Sick Bay, got Phlox to dispatch a specimen for us and I showed Maalik how to dress the thing. I’d done them all for the Perseian crew earlier and I was getting better at it, but he blanched a few times and admitted it wasn’t going to be easy for him. 

I wasn’t looking forward to it either—two rats apiece times three meals would be nearly fifty dead animals a day, not including the Zorida’s food. 

If only we could . . . oh it _can’t_ be that easy,” I brightened, looking at Maalik. “It can’t!” 

“What can’t be that easy?” Maalik wanted to know. I picked up the skinned rat, and walked over to the protein re-sequencer. 

I pulled open the glass door, set the plated carcass inside, and looked at the programing screen, trying to remember the one for _scan/duplicate._

There was hum and a quick glow before the screen said: _New sequence created. Store sequence?_

I pulled out the carcass, typed _yes, Save: Fran 1_ and when the prompt: _re-create?_ Popped up, I hit _yes_ again. 

A flash, and there behind the glass was another rat carcass. 

I’ll deny it to my dying day if anyone but Archer asks, but yes--Maalik and I did a victory dance in the galley, each of us carrying a plate of dead rat over our heads. 


	19. Chapter 19

I was on my way back from gathering some cucumbers from the hydroponic garden when I was grabbed.

Right outside the junction by the cargo lift storage space. One minute I was walking along with a basket of cucumbers and the next I was yanked into darkness. I knew it was coming, so I wasn’t scared, but I still ended up breathless as Archer wrapped his arms around me.

“J—“ I didn’t get much beyond that as he kissed-mauled me in a sweetly ferocious fashion, and damn his hands were all _over_ my ass.

“Missed you,” he managed when we both needed to breathe. “SO much, Franny!”

“Mmmmme too,” I panted. “Where’s the cat lady?”

“Ditched her for a run,” Archer was plucking open the buttons on my jacket at high speed, hands slipping under my bra. I realized he was in his workout gear of sleeveless shirt and shorts. Very helpful. I yanked the top off of him.

“Got a _bet-ter_ workout in mind,” came my growl, and he gave a happy groan when I nipped his neck.

“ _Want_ you,” Archer told me, as if his damned body wasn’t making it crystal clear; I was getting a dent in my thigh from his erection which was flattering even as I tried to wrestle my way out of my slacks. We managed to strip each other through comical fumblings and while the semi-darkness of a utility closet wasn’t my ideal trysting place, I wasn’t going to deny myself the illicit fun of climbing that man like a ladder.

Fortunately there was a section of fencing around the cargo lift so I perched on that and wrapped my legs around Archer, balancing a bit precariously but more than ready for him.

“Franny sweetheart—” and I heard it all in his tone: desire, desperation and an apology for bypassing extended foreplay at the moment.

“Do me,” I ordered, “right NOW!”

I love a man who can follow orders. That first thrust set everything in grunting grasping gasping GLORIOUS motion, hoo boy! Being vertical definitely intensified the sensations for me, and I could tell Archer was feeling it too . . . at this rate I was going to have bruises on my ass but it would be worth it, yeah, yeah, yeah!

Full steam hard-core and a few minutes later I was just about to hit critical when we both heard someone coming, and it wasn’t either of us.

We froze, trying to keep from breathing loudly.

“Captain? Captain Archer? The Zorida needs to speak to you!” Came Helevas’ voice. From the sound of it he was wandering down the corridor but his footsteps didn’t stop outside the door as he continued to call out as he passed by. “The Zorida cannot be kept waiting! Captain Archer!”

“Shit!” Archer ground his teeth and I growled myself. He was still wonderfully deep within me, but now the moment was as dead as one of the Zorida’s meals because yeah, neither of us was going to be able to finish. Not now.

I lightly pushed him a step back, feeling him slip from me and regretting it. “Go,” I told him quietly. “Last thing we need is to get caught here, _mio caro._ ”

He swore. I tried not to laugh because Jonathon Archer in full four-letter mode is so against his normal persona, but from the sound of it, oooh he was in a murderous mood now. With hard quick moves he re-dressed himself, and then gently helped me back into my clothes, pressing little kisses on my hip and collar bones. 

“I want her _gone_ ,” he growled at me. “Off my ship, _back_ on hers, and to fucking _hell_ with establishing diplomatic ties with the Beta Persei!”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Are you going to be . . . okay?” I asked awkwardly. I wasn’t an expert on this situation but I’d heard it could be uncomfortable for a guy. Not that I was any too happy to be all achy and unfulfilled myself.

“No,” he groused, “but I’ll live. We,” Archer nuzzled me as he sighed, “are overdue for an overnight. Once I boot the Beta, it’s a date.”

“Yes,” I assured him. “In the meantime, we make . . . nice. Instead of _you_ know.”

“Sometimes,” Archer grunted, “I _hate_ diplomacy.”

*** *** *** 

Our interrupted tryst was only one annoyance; apparently none of our guests were particularly nice and the entire crew was feeling a sense of exasperation in hosting them. Sath told me that Trip was getting all sorts of push from everyone to get the other ship’s engines repaired, and that even Phlox was getting a little impatient with the demands of our guests.

“They want to be entertained _all_ the time,” Sath grumbled, “and don’t seem to get that we’ve got work to do! They follow folks around and then complain when they don’t get attention. How they ever managed to even get into space is a damned mystery to me.”

“Truly like felines,” Maalik observed. “We should test out catnip on them.”

Sath got a look on his face and I started to laugh even as I told him, “No. nononononono! You can’t!”

“What you don’t know about, you don’t have to confirm or deny,” he replied, and made a show of stretching. “Sooo, I think I need to go check on some supplies . . .”

Maalik and I looked at each other and grinned but we said nothing. For the rest of the day anytime we happened to glance at each other we were on the verge of laughing, which lightened the mood considerably.

I heard about the incident later; that someone had given one of the Perseians a little sachet, and that pretty soon the recreation lounge was some sort of a sprawling mess of purring aliens stoned out of their minds. It didn’t last long apparently, and the Zorida confiscated the sachet for herself, but the incident was enough to put most of our crew in a better mood. The Perseians demanded more of the ‘magic pillows’ of course, and Sath was still working out some sort of deal by the time I was serving up dinner.

Tonight I was presenting chicken yakitori, with a tofu version for T’Pol which I paired with chilled soba noodles and a salad of slivered vegetables. I’d also prepared one of the synthesized rat carcasses for the Zorida and brought everything in on a cart, making sure to serve her first.

From the minute I set the plate in front of her, I could tell she was pissed. She barely looked at me and after I’d served everyone else, when I was checking to see if the meal was satisfactory, the Zorida hissed.

“No, this is _not_ satisfactory, Dispatcher! This meal is cold! _Again_! I require _fresh_ kill, not this rotting meat!” To Archer she added, “I do not understand why you keep such an incompetent and stupid member on your crew. Dispatchers are not to be _seen_ in good company! Was she put here to _punish_ you?”

“ _Excuse_ me,” Archer cut in, using that tone of voice so sharp it pierced the air. “But you are out of _line_ , Zorida Stalope, and I will not tolerate an insult to my Chef.”

Apparently the Zorida didn’t understand just how far _over_ the line she’d gone—maybe all the catnip had gone to her head. “It’s hardly an insult when it’s true,” she pouted. “And she’s _ugly_ as well. I lose my appetite whenever she’s in the room.”

Oh THAT did it. Archer rose up and leaned on the table, ignoring both T’Pol and my attempts to interject. “What. Did. You. Say?”

The Zorida looked alarmed now, but didn’t back down. “She’s ugly. If she was on _my_ ship I would have her jettisoned.”

“We’re done,” Archer announced grimly, and to T’Pol he added, “Have Reed round up all our . . . guests and take them back to their own ship, repairs be damned. I won’t have them here a minute _longer_ , understood?”

“Perfectly, Captain,” T’Pol replied and left. Through the open door I could see other diners out in the Mess Hall looking our way. I tried to go too, but my movement caught the Zorida’s eye; angrily she picked up her plate and flung it at my face.

It hit. The rat didn’t hurt me, but the china plate smacked my nose a good clip and blood spurted out. I didn’t see what happened next, but by the time I’d cleared my vision and wiped my nose, I saw Archer pinning the Zorida’s face against the wall, one of her delicate arms twisted up behind her back.

“Zorida Stalope of the Beta Persei, as of this moment you are no longer welcome on the Enterprise!” he snapped at her. “EVER. You have two minutes to join your crew on a shuttle or I’ll jettison you myself.”

He gave a little shove and pulled back; the Zorida half-turned and hissed at him, her fangs bared. 

“As if you and your pathetic race had _anything_ worth an alliance!” she sneered. “You’ll regret this, Archer!” She stalked out, making her way through the Mess Hall as our stunned crew watched her go.

Archer moved to me, arm around my shoulder. “Bleeding,” he grunted. “God Franny, I’m so damned sorry!” 

Annnd again he scooped me up, carrying me out while I tried not to die of embarrassment. “It’s jud a bloody node!” I protested. “I can walk!”

“Nope,” he rumbled. “I love you and I’m bigger than you. Come on, we’re heading to Sick Bay.”

Only a dozen or so people heard that of course, and I knew it was going to be shared all over the ship within a day—how the captain beat up an alien guest and lugged me to Sick Bay after loudly announcing his feelings to all and sundry.

By the time we reached Phlox the flow had ebbed a bit, but my nose was pretty tender, so I got pain relievers and some cooling spray to help it. Archer took off to supervise the deportation and I went back to clean up what was left of the mess in the Captain’s Mess.

Maalik or Sath must have gotten there first since it was all clean so I checked the galley but nobody was there and the prep had been done for the next day. I debated making cakes just to have something to do, and finally decided I needed to go back to my own quarters, because if I was going to brood, that was the safest place.

In the ancient language of my mother, what a clusterfuck. We’d screwed up a first contact and possibly made a dangerous enemy. To be honest I knew not everyone out here was going to love us out here—it’s a fact of life that you can’t please everyone, but I felt this one personally. If only I’d stayed away, or sent someone else to prepare food . . . _if only, if only_ echoed in my head and I headed for the shower, feeling like crap.

When I got out, there was a man and his dog waiting for me.


	20. Chapter 20

Archer set Porthos down started talking the minute he saw me, moving closer and keeping his voice low. “Franny, I’m sorry. I mean about just sweeping you out of there but damn it you were hurt, and I won’t put up with that. I can’t, feeling the way I do! That, that Persei bitch had no _right_ to say those things let alone fling a _plate_ at you!”

“S’okay,” I told him gruffly because my nose was still tender. “At least it wasn’t the other way around but it was close. If she’d kept at it, I would have Yakitori-ed her right through her kitty ears with those skewers.”

He snickered and held out his arms; I stepped into them and we hugged each other. One of the best things about the man was that he knew how to do that—give comfort that is. Gradually though I let my grip loosen and drop to his waist as I sighed.

“So we sort of stepped in it with regards to the Beta Persei I guess, and I feel responsible for that.”

“You’re not at fault,” Archer told me. “And frankly, she acted more like a spoiled teenager than anyone to worry about. Trip managed to fix their ship and they took off pretty quickly so we’ll send the reports to Starfleet and chalk it up to experience. You and I both know not _every_ first meeting is a win, right?”

I nodded. “I know. So that leaves the _other_ little problem to deal with.”

Archer gave a deep sigh. “Yeah . . . well I’m going to be honest here, Franny. I have absolutely no particular regrets saying I love you, here, in public, or anywhere else.”

“It’s going to raise a potential stink with Starfleet,” I warned him. “You know how they are about fraternization and rank.”

“And if you were an officer that might be an issue, but you’re not,” he reminded me, pulling me down to cuddle with him on the bunk. Not a lot of room here in my cabin but we managed to get comfortable. “You’re part of the civilian support and your rank is strictly honorary. In the Vulcan and Andorian fleets there are married couples serving together, and you know as well as I do that the cargo and supply ships are full of families, so there are precedents out there.” 

Something about what he was saying nagged at me but I was too tired to concentrate, so I fought a yawn. “Sleep,” I told him. “You and the pup staying? Please?”

“Yep,” he reassured me, and started stripping down. Porthos made a nest in the middle of his discarded jumpsuit, which I found sort of adorable, and Jon slid onto the bunk, draping me over his left side.

We slept. I needed it, and I think Jon did too since both of us were out for most of the night. I’d almost gotten used to the close quarters of a single bunk, and the comfort of being curled up in the embrace of a warm, cuddly man did a lot to help.

 

Hours later, I got up to use the bathroom and when I came back Jon was awake too, so we spent some time reassuring each other without speaking a single word. I made it clear that I was going to have him, and he was absolutely in agreement with that, but when I shifted onto my hands and knees, Jon hesitated.

I looked over my shoulder at him, and he leaned over me, stretching out over my spine and bringing his lips to my ear. “I can’t see your face this way,” he murmured. “And I love _watching_ you.”

“That’s really romantic, but I promise you’ll _know_ it’s me,” I reassured him, wriggling a little and making him groan.

“Fran-ches-caaaa . . .” I could hear both desire and exasperation in his voice and laughed. Carefully I reached down between my thighs to catch his thick shaft in my hand and caress it.

“Woof, woof,” I laughed, and backed myself up against him. I wasn’t prepared for how the strong stroke of his erection into me sent fresh jolts of liquid lust through my most sensitive places and I shivered as my skin pebbled up in gooseflesh. “Oooooohhhhhyaaaaa!”

And THAT did it. Big hands on my hips, Jon drove himself into me with a grunt as I rocked back to take it, unable to shut up because WOW everything felt soooo GOOD.

I loved how romantic and gentle and sweet Jon could be, but honest to God I also loved how he could go carnal caveman too and pound us both into a howling frenzy. It took a bit of teasing and pleading to let him know it was what I wanted now and then—

Like now. For the next few minutes I was clutching the mattress just to keep on my knees and making the most obscene noises, feeling myself go hot and cold, my skin alive in a way I’d never felt before, with all the sparklers going off along my nerve endings. Feeling how damned strong Jon was, hearing his groans had me quivering hard, ready to go in a few strokes more . . .

Porthos gave a little howl. 

I guess he was feeling left out, what with all the animal noises going on, and I expected Jon to tense up, but no, he just laughed and kept going, pushing me right over into that nearly unbearable toe-curling gasping sort of orgasm that almost hurts it’s so good and overwhelming. I tensed hard, and felt Jon come within me in hot splashes that had me shuddering all over again.

I collapsed, bringing Jon down with me across my back as we both lay there, breathing hard, sweaty as hell and at least in my case, happy. I managed to slip a limp arm over the side of the bunk, and Porthos promptly licked my wrist, enjoying the salt I guess.

“Good boy,” I mumbled, and looked over my shoulder, my cheek scraping against Jon’s as he chuckled. “And _you’re_ a good dog too.”

“Woooooof!” he replied with a sleepy laugh.

\--oo00oo--

Scrubbing up together in the shower was a tricky prospect but we managed, heroically restraining ourselves from starting anything we really didn’t have the time to finish. It was tender just the same and I realized that I was thinking of him as ‘Jon’ now and not ‘the captain’ or ‘Archer’ anymore. It’s hard to be formal with the man who’s dedicated most of the night to giving you orgasms and honestly, I loved him.

I walked HIM and the dog back to his cabin, amused at how he blushed about it, and kissed him at his door. “Thank you,” I told him softly. “For everything.”

He took my hands and kissed my knuckles. “I’m the grateful one.”

I headed down the corridor, happy and preoccupied, only to run into T’Pol coming the other way. She eyed me briefly. “Chef,” came her quiet acknowledgement as she passed me.

“Hey,” I replied blithely, and then stopped. I caught the last of her form as she made her way around a curve of the corridor, and wondered where she was going since it was nearly four-thirty in the morning and even as I realized that, I also realized that T’Pol had come from the direction of the senior officer’s quarters.

Interesting.

I grinned.

*** *** *** 

The Giving Thanks banquet, as we decided to call it, was labor-intensive but worth it. Maalik and I managed to prepare dishes from twenty-two different cultures including four from other planets, and set up a buffet around the Mess Hall so that each shift could come and enjoy the offerings. I was touched that so many crew members wanted to pitch in, and that they’d arranged for Maalik and me to get out from the kitchen and join in.

Sath had gone above and beyond with the decorations, putting up the words and designs for ‘peace’ and ‘gratitude’ from every language we could think of, and he had a little vid booth in one corner so folks could send a cheery message home to loved ones. Travis set up the holosound system for music, and helped put up a banner where we all could write reflections on our mission and what we’d learned since starting out.

Naturally I was directing traffic and making sure dishes were ready to go and sort of everywhere all at once. I caught Archer giving me an amused look as he loaded up a plate, and when I had a chance I came over to see what he had.

“Ohh, yes, that’s groundnut stew, from Ensign Cholokwesi’s recipe. And I see you got some of Chief’s biscuits and Lieutentant Sath’s coconut rice,” I murmured approvingly. “Good choices.”

“Is it true T’Pol donated . . . beer?” he asked, a hint of fascination in his voice.

I nodded. “It’s in the lumpy bottles among the drinks and honestly, it’s not too bad. A very dark sort of ale, but it goes well with a lot of the meat dishes.”

He gave a shake of his head. “I don’t know how you talked her into it.”

“Honest interest,” I replied, “and respect. Show those towards folks and it’s amazing what you get in return.”

I moved down the line, checking to see what needed to be re-filled and running fresh batches out. Maalik LOVED walking around with the saber of meats, and told me he’d borrowed the sword from Reed.

“Generous of him and it really looks the part,” my sous grinned as he sliced me some of the beef. I settled into a corner table and mostly watched everyone, pleased at how the festive air was bringing out the best in the crew, feeling a little tired but happy.

Later, after Maalik and I stocked the dessert offerings---everything from Denobulan Dibo Cream to Congo coffee brownies—I watched as crewmembers cleared away the tables and created a dance floor in the Mess Hall. Travis and Hoshi broke the ice and were first out on the floor and nearly everyone else followed, switching up partners between songs. I even saw Maalik out there having a good time and honestly Savorn Sath is a _wild_ man when it came to leading a conga line.

I wondered how much Vulcan beer he’d had, honestly!

And then after a while things got a little slower and much softer. Now there were couples on the floor, entwined through ballads, and I was thinking about getting started on the dishes when a song came on.

A certain song. 

I knew damned well who was responsible for it too, and when I looked up, Jon was there, holding out his hand as Tony Bennett began to sing.

“ _Por favore_?” he murmured and I rose up, following him out to the middle of the Mess Hall, already caught up in the music as Jon took me in his arms.

The slow sweet strains of “I Left my Heart in San Francisco,” flowed around the two of us, and never have I felt a song so keenly. Everything I loved about my city and this man were all there, achingly sweet and perfect. I leaned into Jon, pressing my cheek against his, letting him guide me slowly around as I sighed.

“Homesick?” he murmured.

“A little,” I hummed back, “but it’s here too. It’s you and me and everything we care about all in one tune.”

“Mmmhmm,” Jon agreed.

We kept dancing and just as the music was about to come to an end, he brought his lips close to my ear. “Sweet Francesca— _marry_ me. Please?”

I drew in a deep breath, tightened my grip on him. “Yes.”

I wasn’t prepared to have him pick me up, twirl me around, and once I was down again, go in for one of the most overwhelming kisses of my damned life, but I’ve always been quick on the uptake, and kissed him back in a rush of love and happiness, bubbling over until I had to breathe, laughing. Suddenly I was aware of people staring at us.

There was nobody else on the dance floor.

We’d been the _only_ couple out there during the song and of course that sort of sentimentality on top of all the other emotions racing through my heart made me burst into tears. Luckily Jon understood and when he hugged me again I felt him shaking a bit as well.

“Hey Cap?” Trip called out. “Was that a _yes_?”

I smiled, nodding and son of a bitch, everyone applauded. Even T’Pol managed a few light claps while Maalik grinned ear to ear and Phlox beamed. Then we were overwhelmed with people coming in to congratulate us and Jon handed me a little box of pink glass and in it was a ring of woven rose-colored metal on a velvet lining. I opened the box and he took the ring out.

“Amorium,” he murmured. “Sometimes called Lovebind ribbon. I picked it because I know you can’t always wear rings when you’re cooking, so . . .” He pulled opposite sides and the ring stretched to the size of a bracelet, thinning out. “You can wear it as a bracelet or necklace instead.”

I goggled and he held it out, guiding my hand through it, pushing the woven edges until it rested snugly on my wrist. I looked up and realized Jon’s expression was slightly anxious. “Is it okay?”

“More than okay,” I assured him, blinking back more tears. “ _Perfetto come te_!”


	21. Chapter 21

Soooo apparently our relationship wasn’t as under the radar as we thought, and it floored me how many people seemed to have known about it. The banquet was over, Jon had to return to the bridge and only a few of us were left now. I looked around at my friends at the dining table, slightly stunned.

“ _Obvious_ to me,” Phlox smiled, his eyes twinkling. “For reasons.”

“Yeah, ‘bout the third time Cap mentioned you with that little sigh in his voice right when we left Pythos V, I clued in,” Trip added, finishing the last of his pecan pie. “So I decided to put it to the test on Risa.”

“When you started showing up in a good mood,” Maalik chuckled. “Dead giveaway, Fran. You never smiled before coffee until right around the time we encountered the Shabotax.”

Sath shrugged, toying with his bottle of Vulcan beer. “Frankly I _always_ knew . . . I mean it was pretty apparent and all.”

I glared at them all, trying to stay mad but I couldn’t, and laughed intead. “You _guys_ \----”

“Hey, it was your business and nobody else’s,” Trip pointed out, holding up his hands in a placating manner. “It’s a small ship, and about the only real kindness we can do is to give each other that courtesy, right?”

“True,” I told him, holding his gaze deliberately. I knew I’d hit the mark when he blushed. 

“Still, it’s unprecedented for Starfleet, and it will be interesting to see how it affects the next mission of this ship,” Phlox pointed out. “We’re due back to Earth within the next four months, barring any change of plan.”

“Yeah,” I sighed, automatically stacking plates as I rose. “That’s been on my mind as well. I don’t want to jeopardize Jon’s career but I’m not sure about giving up my position in the galley either.” 

“Build your case,” Phlox advised, moving to help me. “Set the example.”

“Yeah,” Trip added, “This ship is supposed to be groundbreaking. No reason that can’t include the protocols as well, right?”

\--oo00oo—

For the next several months I fretted. Part of it was because Jon was out on more complicated missions that took him off-ship, and into danger. I was never crazy about that part of his job, and confided all my worries to Porthos, who stayed with me whenever Jon was gone.

Part of it too, was the simply not knowing what was going to happen next. It hadn’t been too bad when the only person I had to worry about was myself. But that wasn’t the case anymore, and it took some getting used to. I learned how to keep several projects going to put my focus into something more useful than brooding, and that meant that not only was the culinary database expanding, but Maalik and I had enough recipes to consider writing a cookbook together down the line.

But I wasn’t the only one who had trouble adjusting. Whenever Jon got back we made it a point to always spend the first night together just holding each other until we were both ready for more. Sometimes he’d been through something rough, and sometimes _I_ was the one feeling unsettled or hurting. Either way, just being together helped, even if it took a few days or more for us to get back to normal.

And we talked.

“Kids? Yes,” Jon told me one night as we basked in some lovely afterglow. “Vaguely I always thought they’d be part of the big picture, although not right now of course. How about you?”

“I never really gave the idea much thought. And then I met you and now . . . I’m still debating it,” I confessed. “Kind of a new thought for me. Don’t get me wrong; I like kids,” I continued. “Most of the ones I’ve met are decent. But I never gave serious consideration to actually having any before.”

“It’s not set in stone,” Jon assured me, hugging me a little tighter. “Seriously, Franny, I mean that.”

“I know,” I told him. “And that’s not a ‘no’ on my part either. I guess I need to think about it as a possibility for us . . . but as you say, not now.”

We were quiet for a little while, and he sighed. “I’m far more likely to die on the job than other people, sweetheart. Not that I want to upset you but you know those are the facts. You could be a widow on any given day.”

“Man your pillow talk needs work,” I teased, nipping at his shoulder. “Yes, I know that. I accepted the risk when I said ‘yes’ so if this is your way of trying to get _out_ of marrying me it’s not going to work. And I’d make a damned hot widow you know. I’d have to wear lots of slinky black lace.”

“Oookay I’m definitely interested in _that_ part,” he purred. “If I get you some can we have a preview? You wouldn’t deny a future dead husband that pleasure, right?”

“I dunno . . . showing you what you’d be missing before you’re dead might influence you to stay alive,” I pretended to pout. “That would cramp my style as a sexy _vedova_ slinking around in an ebony satin corset, intimately caressing myself because I’m SO lonely and aroused.”

“Annd I think I’ve just beat my own personal record for minimal refractory time,” Jon announced in a low voice. “Next shopping trip: black lace.”

“Oooh, the dead rise again,” I noted cheerfully. “Is that for me?”

“Yep,” he rolled over, pinning me down. “Can’t keep a good future dead husband down. Or from going down.”

I couldn’t answer that; I was too busy moaning.

\--oo00oo—

Finally the day came when we had orders to return to Earth. Ostensibly it was for repair/refitting and renewal but I sensed it was more than that. I didn’t ask; Jon was duty-bound to keep anything classified to himself and we both knew it. Still, there were other things to consider as well and he was far more confident than I was.

“We’re getting _married_ , Franny, so I kind of _have_ to meet them,” he teased. “They’re going to be my family too, you know.”

“Yeah well don’t blame me if you demand your ring back after you do,” I sighed. “Mom will be great, but Nona and Aunt Gissella . . .” I gave a shiver.

“It will be fine,” Jon reassured me. “I’ll behave myself.”

“You I’m not worried about,” I countered, picking up Porthos and stroking his head. “Still . . . I suppose you’re right. I’ll see about maybe having lunch or something. As it is I have three meetings with Starfleet myself.”

We arrived two weeks later and I managed to get through to my mother who was delighted. She agreed to host a lunch and I passed the info to Jon who found the first free day on his schedule for it.

And _I_ went to meet Commander Justine Zindal, head of the newly formed Starfleet Culinary School. 

“So . . . you’ve had a somewhat . . . busy mission, Chef De Marelli,” she began in a snippy tone, and I hated her already. Commander Zindal was a tiny titanium nail of a woman with grey hair, grey eyes, grey attitude. I could tell she had a few axes to grind so I made myself comfortable at the other end of the long table. 

Flanking her on either side were two other people: a gnome-like Vulcan man who’d been introduced as Soloc, intergalactic liaison for cultural affairs and a burly Petty Officer named O’Neil who was head of menu and cuisine design.

“Yes Ma’am,” I replied. “I have. It’s been quite a learning curve.”

“You could call it that,” Zindall sniffed, and looked at her holoscreen. “According to your reports, you brought foodstuffs aboard the Enterprise not once, but over _three_ times that were unscreened and unidentified, which could have let to serious consequences.”

“What?” I blinked at her. She gave me a fake smile.

“Apparently there was a near poisoning with some weird spice; a gift of undocumented raw meat, and a manifest from Korraav station that exceeded the purchase order to an _unprecedented_ extent. Care to explain yourself, Chef?”

I took a breath. “We followed protocol for all incoming shipments of food to the Enterprise. In retrospect, I DO think there should be an ongoing review of those protocols, particularly when dealing with unknown foodstuffs, but as of our return, my kitchen screened and identified _every_ item that passed through it. Ma’am.”

She didn’t look convinced. “What about this poisoning?”

“It was NOT a poisoning. The spice in question was Pla-ku mor, and a small percent of humanoids—in this case one person--had a mild . . . _reaction_ to it. And fully recovered.”

I was blushing but I held my ground.

“Pla-ku mor,” the Vulcan, Soloc spoke up thoughtfully. “I’m familiar with it and its dopamine effects, Commander Zindal. A non-toxic herb; the seasoning database now has the side effect listed.”

“Nevertheless---” she began, but the Petty Officer cleared his throat and it sounded like distant thunder.

“Minor flub, easily fixed. _I_ want to know about the meat.”

So I told them about the Shabotax and my rendering of the Cho’olk. Commander Zindal looked queasy, but both Soloc and O’Neil were interested, asking questions and listening to my story. When I talked about how the cuts had supplemented our food supply, both of them nodded.

“Expeditious and efficient of you,” Soloc murmured. “Culturally sensitive as well.”

“Smart,” O’Neil agreed. “Mind you, I’d like to see better screening protocols for it though. Phlox is good but not every ship will have someone looking out for spoilage or contamination if they’re busy in Sick Bay.”

“It could be an adjacent duty for the Quartermaster,” I offered up. “Or anyone out of the biology offices.”

Commander Zindel made a face. “Moving ON,” she continued, “What about these . . . items from Korraav station?”

“Gifts,” I told her. “My sous, Maalik Khan, made an extremely good impression on the quartermistress there and she presented us with several samples as a gesture of goodwill. I made sure to screen every item for toxicity and nutritional value before serving it and have made several additions to our database of edible foods.”

A Tellerite just . . . gave you the bounty?” Commander Zindel leaned back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest.

I lowered my voice. “Umm yes. Point of fact, Maalik has this truly _magnificent_ beard . . .”

I heard O’Neil laugh. “Yeah that would _do_ it. Sprouted one myself two years ago and got hit on pretty hard in the mining bars of Cronus station. Their ladies do _love_ a covered chin.”

Soloc nodded. “It defies understanding but true. Chef DeMarelli, as far as I am concerned you have come through the shakedown of the Enterprise commendably, and your suggestions on improvements for the galley are highly logical. I feel you would be well qualified to continue in your current position for a second mission, if you accept—“

“Hold on,” Commander Zindal snarled. She gave me a cold smile from the far end of the table. “Before we make any recommendations here, I really, REALLY need to know why you used one of Starfleet’s finest pieces of culinary technology to . . . re-create dead RATS, DeMarelli.”


	22. Chapter 22

Mom lives in North Beach, on Greenwich Street and the terrace house is small, with almost no front yard. Seeing Jon standing around mom, me, Aunt Gisella and Nona was like seeing a rooster among flock of little hens. He waited patiently while I kissed and hugged everyone chattering a mile a minute in Italian with all three of them and eventually I was done, he stepped forward and handed each of them a bouquet. 

Very old-fashioned, very traditional. Mom went into pleased little murmurs and smiles, holding hers close. Nona nodded and winked at us, which helped. Aunt Gisella reluctantly took hers, going for the minimum of courtesy which I’d sort of expected all along.

“Lovely, thank you _so_ much,” Mom told him sweetly. Nona waved a knobby hand indicating Jon should bend down to her and when he did, she kissed his cheek . . . somewhat lingeringly, I noted wryly. Aunt Gisella gave him a perfunctory nod.

“Franny has told me nothing but good things about you all,” Jon rumbled, doing his charming best and from what I could see, succeeding by two thirds.

“Well she’s told us next to _nothing_ about you,” Aunt Gisella snapped. 

Nona gave a good backhand with her bouquet, swatting my aunt’s head and covering it with petals. _“Stai zitto, marmocchia!”_ she hissed, and to Jon she cackled, “Forgive my daughter’s rudeness; the nuns didn’t beat her enough.”

To his credit my beloved didn’t laugh but he came damned close. I squeezed his hand warningly. My mother rolled her eyes and motioned for us to go inside the house, staying behind as I led Jon into the living room and I heard a flurry of annoyed Italian behind us.

“Mom’s just threatened to cancel all the subscription holo-soap operas if Aunt Gisella doesn’t behave,” I translated under my breath. “And Nona is calling you the catch of the century. Sure you’re still willing to do this?”

He shot me a grin. “Yep. Compared to negotiating with the Suliban this ought to be a piece of cake.”

I snorted, and motioned for him to sit next to me on the sofa while Mom brought in appetizers. Nona Maria settled into her rocking chair and Aunt Gisella took one of the uncomfortable club chairs, looking peevish as she did so. 

“Broiled mushrooms with Parmesan and pepper,” Mom announced, setting the tray down. “So, Jon . . . I heard from Franny that the next mission will be starting soon.”

“Yes Ma’am. We have a little less than a month until the Enterprise heads out once more. Not a lot of time, but that’s how it goes with Starfleet.”

“Do you two plan to, um, get married _before_ then, or . . . ?” Mom fumbled a bit.

Nona spoke up. “Elope! I have a double coupon for the ferry to Alcatraz!”

Jon choked a little on a mushroom and I sweetly replied, “Thank you Nona, but I’m not sure getting married on the site of a former notorious penitentiary is really what we had in mind.”

“Oh I don’t know,” Jon murmured and I could have killed him for that, but it was hard to stay annoyed when he had that little smirk. “Could be pretty romantic.”

“Ridiculous!” Aunt Gisella barked. “Utterly ridiculous! No, you need a priest and a church and a reception at Sota Mare for at LEAST a hundred guests! Francesca you must have three bridesmaids and all your flowers done by Salvadore’s on Market Street!” She pointed her finger at me. “Marriage is no joking matter, young lady! You and this man may be affianced after all sorts of _nasty_ carrying on, but from now you two need to go through your instructions and keep pure and _chaste_ until after the wedding if you expect to do things the RIGHT way!”

There was one of those painfully embarrassing pauses where I wanted to drop through the floor because while I’d been expecting this from my aunt, it still felt like a slap in the face.

_“Gisella, chiudi la boca!”_ Nona and mom yelled in tandem.

Aunt Gisella glared, chewing her lips.

Mom ignored her and smiled at us. “Suddenly Alcatraz sounds good to me _too_. I could talk Father Ignacio into going; he’s free most weekends now. Jon, do you think your mother could make it?”

“She’d _love_ to go!“ Jon replied enthusiastically and I stared at him.

“--You’re serious. _Alcatraz_?”

“Sure, why not? It’s got a great view of the Bay and it’s pretty central,” he pointed out. “We could even bring Porthos!” He beamed.

After the nightmare of what Aunt Gisella had demanded this . . . was starting to sound reasonable to me. “Alcatraz,” I shivered. “In April.”

He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and squeezed. “Think of the _photo_ opportunities, Franny!” God, Jon was actually getting enthusiastic about this idea.

“You and me in adjoining cells,” I muttered. “That would be about right.”

Mom laughed softly. “It will bring a new meaning to ‘life sentence.’

“You are all insane!” Aunt Gisella muttered darkly. “Pazzo e dannato!”

“Good thing you’re not invited then,” Nona pointed out. “In fact— _go_ to your room!”

“Mama!” Aunt Gisella squawked. “I’m sixty-seven years old!”

“You won’t make it to sixty-eight if you keep talking instead of walking. _Muovi il culo, ragazza!_ ”

With as much wounded dignity as she could manage, my aunt hauled herself to her feet and stalked off, not looking back. I watched her go, feeling bad, but not enough to call her back. Mom looked relieved and Nona practically gloated.

“She should have been a nun,” Nona told us. “Bossing people around, spoiling their fun, sour as a green grape. It’s a good thing they love her at her job.”

Jon looked blank; I muttered, “The DMV.”

Mom sighed. “So. Crazy as it sounds maaaybe Alcatraz could work. As Jon pointed out it’s central, so anyone you want to invite could probably make it out there. Unless you want us to try and book a church . . .”

“No, no, that’s fine, that’s fine,” I broke in hastily, fighting nightmares of dress fittings and registries and invitations. I’d catered, attended, and witnessed too many weddings to put up with any of the traditional tortures. “Defunct maximum-security potentially haunted prison it is.”

Jon smiled.

\--oo00oo—

So yes, we got married on Alcatraz.

Turned out to be a clear day but chilly, and we all bundled up for the ferry ride over. Trip and Admiral (‘Just call me Max’) Forrest were there, as was Jon’s mom Sally. I was nervous about meeting her for the first time, especially so close to the wedding but the minute we were introduced she hugged me tight.

“Thank you for making him SO happy,” she murmured and I teared up. She was a tall lithe woman with the same nose and eyes as her son. I could see who he got his lankiness from.

I had my mom and Nona and yes, even my aunt who was making an effort not to pass judgment even as she stared at everyone. Rolf, my dear baking buddy agreed to be my ‘dude of honor’ and was thrilled to wear a home-baked coronet of flowers and croissants in his long red hair.

Father Ignacio had already talked to me and Jon about the ceremony, which we all agreed needed to be the short form; official but expedient. Since it was not exactly a formal situation, we opted for the practical in clothing. I managed to find a long cable knit sweater dress in pearl grey with the Tellerite earrings while Jon went with a nice shirt, sweater and slacks. 

“We could have gone all military and had those swords to walk under,” I’d teased him. 

“Franny, I’m an astrophysicist and engineer. We’d be walking under an arch of telescopes and protractors.”

“Better than spatulas and whisks,” I’d admitted.

The walk up the stairs was long and I was glad Nona had her motorized glider for the much easier switchback route. Once we got to the top we went out to the prison yard where the wall cut off most of the wind, thank goodness. I didn’t look much like a bride, bundled as I was in a pea coat, but I took it off. Jon was carrying Porthos, who really wanted to chase seagulls.

We looked around, and by unspoken agreement moved to the yard steps once he’d set the beagle down. Father Ignacio spryly climbed to the step above ours and gave a nod. “If the best man and er, dude of honor could come join us . . .”

Rolf and Trip obliged, both of them grinning like bookends. John handed his down jacket to his mother, and took my hands, smiling at me. “You’re gorgeous.”

“So are you,” I admitted with a laugh. “Okay, let’s do this before my cold feet get any colder.”

And we did. Father Ignacio led us through the ceremony and we followed along, aware that some of the other visitors were curiously watching but I didn’t really worry about it. When we got to the rings part Jon gave me another Amorium band that linked to the first one, so I now had a pair of lacy rose and silver bands entwined around each other.

He was not expecting a ring, but when I produced a gold one in the style of a hex nut Jon blinked, a little overwhelmed. I slid it onto his finger, murmuring the words of the pledge and fought a few tears myself because yeah, we were getting married.

We were pronounced and kissed; I was vaguely aware of noise and when we both looked out there were about thirty tourists and visitors applauding us, including a group of Austrians in lederhosen. Our moms were hugging each other, Nona was cheering and wonder of wonders, Aunt Gisella was patting Porthos and looking almost happy.

Almost.

“Sweet Francesca,” Jon laughed. “On the Rock I thee wed!”


	23. Chapter 23

We honeymooned for three days at the Luxuria Hotel near Fisherman’s Wharf and I’m sure the rest of the hotel was fabulous, but all I remember of it was the master suite, the in-room Jacuzzi, and a lot of unbelievable room service.  
And we called down for food, too, periodically.

I discovered that the man I’d fallen in love with generally went into new things with full-throttle enthusiasm and that included our marriage. Jon insisted we change our status with Starfleet immediately, and tackled all the damned paperwork that went with ruthless good cheer. Suddenly I was in his will, on his insurance and listed on deed paperwork for a redwood and glass house in Sausalito complete with view of the Bay, which left me wandering around sputtering because it was so amazing. (I had plans to update the kitchen, though, shhhhhh.)

Amidst all this bounty I also ended up being called back to Starfleet HQ along with Jon and we headed off to different meetings. He had secret important ones with admirals and representatives while I got to lecture culinary students and discuss my research and experiences with various chef-instructors and cooks. Out of the two of us I’m sure I had more fun because I was in my element in a fun sort of way. I even had a few consultations with engineers about some of the modifications to the galleys which was nice too.

There was one truly sad moment though, and that was when Maalik wanted to get together for lunch. We did and over a plate of steamed crabs he told me he’d been offered a chance to run the Columbia’s galley.

“I need to talk it over with you,” he was nearly in tears. “YOU were the one who gave me the chance to get into Starfleet, and I’d be happy as your second for another mission, but----”

“But nothing!” I told him firmly. “You’ve earned the spot, Maalik! Don’t you DARE turn this down, you hear me?”

“Are you sure?” Maalik wavered, and I loved him for his loyalty, but he truly did deserve to be head chef in his own right. He’d been there for me for years and I wasn’t going to let him miss this chance.

I took his hands. “I’m more than sure and so are you, sweetie. I’ll miss you and if you don’t vid me regularly I’ll hunt you down, but we both know this is YOUR launch, Maalik Singh Khan! You TAKE it with my blessing!”

He grinned and jumped up, hugging me tightly. “Oh Franny, thank you!”

“No thanks needed,” I assured him even as I tried not to cry. I was losing him but I was also so damned proud of him. Whoever the crew was, they were getting one of the best chefs around, and I knew he’d be just what they needed. Maalik spent the rest of the lunch taking notes and advice, which was flattering, and we parted a little tearfully but in full support of each other.

When I told Jon that night over wine on the deck of the house, he gave me a strange look, and slipped his arms around me. “Oh Franny, I didn’t think she’d _do_ it.”

“She?” I pulled back to look at him, and now his expression was definitely uncomfortable. “Jon . . . spill.”

“The captain of the Colombia is Erika Hernandez,” he told me. “She and I used to . . . be involved.”

Ow. I flinched a little at that. Yes I knew Jon had a longer romantic history than I did but I didn’t really want to _hear_ about it per se. 

I think he understood that because he tightened his grip on me, hands sliding to my ass. “Used to and it was years ago. Anyway, word was out that she was looking for a chef and in a position to lure one away from the Admiral’s club. I guess she wanted someone with actual starship experience.”

“She could have been really evil and lured _me_ away,” I pointed out, teasingly.

Jon gave me that particular look I love; half granite, half lust. “Over my dead body and two destroyed starships. All diplomacy goes out an airlock where _you’re_ concerned.”

“Funny, I feel the same way about _you_ ,” I murmured, kissing his jawline and making him groan a little. “And anyway this is Maalik’s big chance. He deserves the top spot.”

“Good . . . for him,” Jon was having some difficulty focusing, mostly because I was grinding up against his thigh and nibbling his cheek. “Franny . . .”

“Gotta pick a new sous,” I murmured. “Don’t know if I should go with one of the Starfleet recruits or someone from the _private_ sector.”

I was mean enough to grope him as I said ‘private’ because I’m childish that way. Jon returned the favor by sliding hands down the back of my slacks.

“I had no idea recruitment discussions were so erotic,” he teased. “You have my _attention_ ,” 

"While I do can I talk you into the Chef's Special?"

"I'm up for that!" he assured me in more ways than one.

\--oo00oo—

The only drawback to all the refittings and preparations for the next trip out was the constant inspection tours of Justine Zindal. My explanation about the Beta Persiens and the synthesized rat situation hadn’t sat too well with her, even though it had made O’Neil laugh out loud and even Soloc had looked incrementally amused as he commended me for my compassion in the matter.

She kept prowling around the Enterprise galley and I strongly vetoed her idea of installing a monitor to watch over the kitchen proceedings. I also dismissed her suggestions that I stop sharing recipes with other cultures and leave all supply orders and purchasing to the Quartermaster and his section. It took me a while to figure out why she was so micromanaging, but once I got it, I shook my head.

She envied my position. Zindal had taught at two of the most prestigious culinary schools in the country and had been asked take over the culinary school at Starfleet just after the Enterprise had taken off. I’m sure she took Jon’s hiring me as a personal insult to her superior education and was a little jealous of what I’d experienced so far. I could understand the sentiment but I also knew that Zindal hadn’t worked as a chef in nearly a decade. She knew the profession, yes, and was well-qualified to teach it, but as for actually being responsible for regular reliable work in a kitchen—no. Zindal hadn’t cooked in years.

And now that Captain Hernandez had nabbed Maalik, the double insult of being passed over twice had to sting. I tried to be polite every time I ran into her, but as we got closer to launch it was becoming more irritating to find her in the way.

“She’s been here twice this week,” Trip told me as he supervised the installation of the new wider tray rails. “Not exactly sweetness and light, either.”

“No,” I groused. “It’s like having your high school principal hanging over your shoulder.”

He laughed at that. “We’ll be off soon enough and you won’t have to worry about it. How’s Jon?”

“Busy,” I admitted. “I think he’s had more meetings than meals this week.”

“Not surprised,” Trip nodded. “Hey, want to see your new quarters while you’re here?”

I did, so Trip left the two engineers to their work and we traveled up to E Deck. “Got to thinking that while the original design was fine for a single officer, the two of you—well the three of you, countin’ Porthos—could use a little more room.”

We stepped into Jon’s quarters and I was delighted to see that Trip had expanded it to a two-room arrangement with a living room/study and the bedroom beyond it. “Oh wow! This is amazing but how did you get permission to do it?”

Trip grinned, dimples deep. “Well it wasn’t really a matter of permission. As chief engineer I’ve got a mandate to ‘restructure the interior configurations as needed for maximum efficiency, safety and comfort,’ end quote. The quarters on the other side of the bulkhead were going to be assigned randomly, buuut I thought if I assigned ‘em to you, then it would be an easy justification to combine them with the captain’s.”

I hugged him and Trip hugged me back. “This is fantastic! Thank you SO much, Trip!”

“Aw hey, just a little engineering sleight of hand. Glad you like it.”

“I love it,” I admitted. “Maybe Starfleet will get with the times and make more accommodations like this.”

“Maybe,” He looked wistful and I suspected why but didn’t say anything more. 

I made a note to take pictures so I could show it to Mom and Sally too.

I was still getting to know Sally, my mother-in-law and so far she was terrific. Jon and I had dinner with her at one point and I got to hear about what he was like as a kid (“competitive but good-natured, mostly”) and as a teenager (‘Still competitive but full of hormones.”) while he rolled his eyes and tried not to be embarrassed. I was touched when she told me about Henry’s last years and how hard it had been on her and Jon. 

“We’re so proud,” she beamed. “I’m biased of course but I’m glad Starfleet knows what they have in him. And to have you in the family too now, well . . . that’s the best that could be!”

I made sure I had her on my vid connections and urged Mom to chat with her as well because I didn’t want Sally to feel left out of anything. I guess in the back of my mind I knew I’d need to be strong for her if anything happened to Jon, God forbid.

\--oo00oo--

Our launch day was only forty-eight hours away and I was panicking because I couldn’t get any confirmation from Starfleet about my new sous. All I did know is that they’d interviewed my my three candidates but beyond that I hadn’t heard anything and it was stressing me out. Jon was no help; his hands were full with everything from upgrade reports to mission directives, a lot of which were top secret. I kept checking my email and fretting, looking over my possibles.

The first one was a promising culinary student: Villy Tinjex. She was a space rat who’d worked on a few freighters along the mining runs and had a good sense of humor along with working knowledge of galley cooking. The next one was my buddy Rolf, who was happy to do a tour with me and expand his baking expertise in the process. And the last one was a jovial Swede I barely understood, but his abilities with a rolling pin were amazing.

Still, I needed someone I could work with and depend on, and as the hours ticked down, a dreadful suspicion grew. Suddenly things I hadn’t realized made sense, and I dialed up Petty Officer O’Neil, feeling a chill in the pit of my stomach.

“Yes, I thought you knew,” he rumbled at me over the connection. “Me, I really wanted that freighter gal for the job but the commander laid into her about formal settings and wine lists . . . broke her down on protocol. And much as Soloc and I liked the other two, the commander insisted that as the head of Culinary she needed to do a mission herself.”

I cursed and immediately apologized, but O’Neil gave a humorless laugh. “It’s okay; between you and me it fits. Sorry Chef; as of your launch, Commander Zindal is your new sous.”

 

NEXT: Well Done II


End file.
